


Objet d'Art

by missema



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Civil Unrest, Class Issues, F/M, Heist, Inspired by a Movie, Racial Tension, Robbery, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 10:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1601162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an AU reminiscent of the turbulent 1960's, Zevran Arainai is brought to Denerim to investigate an unusual robbery.  His keen senses lead him straight to the somewhat eccentric surface dwarf, Catalina Brosca.  Ser Brosca's a museum board member, friend of the king and a self-made millionaire - last on the likely list of suspects.  But Zevran is quickly captivated by her, and knows that she's involved with the heist, even if Seeker Leliana is skeptical.  Set against a backdrop of changing times with a maelstrom of tensions between class and the races of Thedas, Zevran pursues his cunning suspect and inconveniently falls in love with her.</p><p>Thomas Crown Inspired AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written of the Dragon Age Big Bang 2014. Thanks to my beta and to my artist minorearth.
> 
> Link to art: [ Eyes on the Prize by minorearth ](http://minorearth.tumblr.com/post/85519227659/a-fanmix-for-thedivinemissemas-dragon-age-big)

It's always raining when he had to go out and start a case. At least, that's what it felt like when Zevran's cab pulled up to the curb of the museum. He had to root around in his large leather satchel for an umbrella. There's nothing there, of course, because he'd roused at three in the morning by his boss and put on a private plane almost immediately. He can feel his hand hit the bottom of the bag and clutch at the few pieces he did have the time to pack.

It didn't matter. Hoisting his jacket over his head, he ran up the front steps of the museum. By all rights should the place have been open, but instead remained closed by police tape. He moved swiftly but carefully up the beige stone steps, the white veins in the marble almost invisible under the slick of the rain. The rain ran fast and heavy, making the mabari statues that sat sentinel on either side of the entrance look as if they'd just been bathing the dogs. Too bad they weren't the real thing – they could have helped him wrap the whole case up in time to get back to Antiva for dinner.

This was a mess, but then again, it always was when they called him in.

Denerim is a gorgeous mess of a city, as it was perpetually. His relationship with the place was storied, for lack of a better term. The first time he ever came here from Antiva he was a junior assistant and had to find his own lodgings. The hostel he was able to afford was beyond filthy, and he spent every night sleeping away his wages in the whorehouse. It was worth it just to get a decent night's rest, and the company wasn't bad either. Not that it was preferable when he was on the job, since it did leave him exhausted, but one did make sacrifices now and then. Thankfully, this time he got booked into a room much grander, if he got the chance to see it this morning. At least he didn't have to worry about flea bites.

The city itself was in a state of flux. Like many large cities in Thedas, there had been riots here. A sign of the changing times, at least that's what the media portrayed it as. What he saw was a bunch of angry young elves, a sprinkling of humans and even a few of the dwarven folk, fighting for their future. People who didn't like the options laid out for their lives and determined to create new ones. Zevran wasn't sure what to make of the whole 'movement' they talked about, but at least they made fashion interesting. He rather liked the short skirts that were now very much the trend with young women. If rebellion included showing off gorgeous sets of legs, he was all for it.

When he flashes his id badge, he's hustled off to Leliana in a hurry. She's standing on the fringe of the action, presumably the room where the piece disappeared from. Her red hair looked wild despite her frantic gesture to tuck it behind her ears and her face looks like thunder. This was going to be bad – but he already knew that. It was she that had called his boss and got him down here, not even twelve hours after the crime took place.

"Leliana." Zevran says, sidling up to the cop.

The storm on her face takes a break when she turns to him, but she doesn't quite manage a smile. "It's good that you are here now, Zevran. I wanted you to see everything we had, in case we missed something."

"Do you think you've missed anything?" He asks. It seems a stupid question, but the answer would gave him insight into what the police may be thinking.

Leliana heaved a heavy sigh. "I don't know. Last night was the opening gala for this exhibit." She grumbled. "We've had to detain most of the society page because the showpiece went missing before it was unveiled." She grunted under her breath. "This neighborhood is full of people that make my job difficult. Everyone is so offended at the notion of stealing, yet nearly all of them have done it. That's how they got where they are now! At least pickpockets are direct."

Zevran didn't spare her a look as his eyes wandered around the 'crime scene'. "Seeker isn't your preferred role?"

"Let's just say that all the fine jewels and pretty clothes don't cover the snakes beneath them. When I have to dance around not to offend the fortieth Lord So and So of the evening, it makes you miss the ease of working in a place like the Market District."

He laughed at that, but the sound wasn't one of mirth. He understood all too well what she meant. "What's so special about this exhibit?"

"The Crows didn't tell you?" He shook his head at her. "It's verified elvhen relics thought to date back to Arlathan itself."

Zevran gave a low whistle. "Well then, I guess I better take a look around. I need everything, including who attended and whether your interviews were productive."

"What are you looking for?" She asks, walking him over towards a roped off room with guards standing before it.

"I'll know when I see it." His tone was grim as she flashed her badge and a guard opened the door.

######

The robbery in itself was an easy thing to pull off, in his professional opinion. Museum security wasn't terrible, but neither was it formidable. It was easily enough bypassed, for all the guards and monitors that they employed. No, the hard part was the getting it out unnoticed. This had to be done with inside help, though he yet to riddle out the extent of the help. All Zevran found when he watched the tapes were five burly men in hats and suits who executed the crime itself. They came in at different times and then exited the building, none of them carrying anything of note. They were too precise, knew where every camera was and how to get the vase out of the building. It was too big and fragile to walk around with, so there had to be a sixth person, a driver of some sort.

"Why would someone want an urn?" A cop behind him grumbled. It was true, the piece in question was an urn, but it was more than that. This particular vessel had elvish writing on it, and that alone made it worth a truckload of gold.

Elven writing that had only survived in bits and snatches over the past millennia. This was the largest example of it that had a direct translation. A Tevinter text described the ritual urn in detail before the fall of Arlathan, and the words recorded and translated. So yes, it was a somewhat dull looking vase to the outsider, but it was also of enormous historical and cultural value. Not to mention the money that it was worth on the black market.

Zevran wasn't there to explain it to some cop who would likely just shrug or tell him to 'save it for the seekers' so he kept it to himself. It was like that on big jobs, ones where the police were the first response. Usually the museum or collector or whomever had lost the damn thing would call the insurance first, not the police. Given the amount of people in the direct vicinity of the crime, he didn't blame them at all for calling the police. It was far more prudent that letting insurers try to settle it all.

Another police officer, a fresh from the academy from the look of her, came for him. "The detective seeker has something for you to see, ser." She said.

Zevran gave the young woman a warm, expansive smile. She was a dark haired elf, and had the Dalish tattoos on her face, though she sounded like she'd come from the Denerim alienage. "Lead the way." He said

"Right this way, leth. I mean, _ser_." She said. From the way she said it, he knew it wasn't an actual mistake, but a way to sound him out. Perhaps she was asking in an oblique manner about his own facial tattoos, which he had done before it was fashionable. Yes, he decides as he looks at her, that must be it.

He said nothing, but smiled at her sidelong, which she returned with a grin of her own. He guessed that she was around eight years younger than him, maybe a little more, but she had the ambitions of youth. Leth was a common way that younger elves greeted or referred to other elves, taken from the old word, lethallan.

In these turbulent times, it was also a way of expressing a certain ideology. The idea of elven solidarity and community that had become the rallying call for a generation. Too many felt disconnected from their past and uncertain about the future. Much of elven history remained lost or had been rewritten to suit the needs of humans. The truth, for all its ugliness, were facts that could be addressed, if known. Withholding it made his people angry and unstable. He should have guessed the younger woman was sympathetic to the ideas from her facial tattoos.

Zevran didn't mind her brazenness in calling him leth. Few would take the chance on him, since he was foreign and unknown. It was almost a compliment.

Humans were called shemlen or shems, as they nearly always were to the elves, but the dwarves were different. Topsiders aligned with the elves, or had vested interest in challenging the status quo were "Durgen". It was a shortened form of the word durgen-len, which had meant dwarf in the old elvish tongue. It was a sign of solidarity to use the name from the old tongue, a sort of respect. Those living underground were by the large faithful allies of the greedy and corrupt humans that made them rich. They were just dwarves, sometimes with an expletive in front.

"Did they find anything interesting?" Zevran asks her. It almost was casual, save for the he stole a glance at her after he asked it. What he wanted was to know if there was anything they'd kept from him, and she knew it.

"They're stumped. But there's plenty of people that are glad to see that piece out of the museum. Trouble is, no matter where it ends up, it won't be where it belongs."

"I see." Zevran said. He did, because she was saying it belonged with her – their – people, but it wasn't likely to wind up there. He agreed with her, and held his dismay in check.

"Seeker Leliana is right over there." She pointed a slender finger at a door. He nodded and thanked her, making sure to maintain eye contact as he did. It wouldn't hurt to have another friendly and attractive, face in his corner while he worked here in Denerim.

She smiled at him as he turned away. When he got to the door he stopped and asked, "what is your name, my friend?"

"Officer Taneth, ser." She said. She wasn't going to call him leth again, not with so many people around, but he could hear it in the way she called him ser.

"Many thanks again. Perhaps we'll see each other again." He winked as he said the last part, and opened the door in front of him. A little flirting never hurt his cases, and he'd just ensured her friendship, or a step towards it, for whatever good it would do.

The police were naive about this whole crime. It wasn't a surprise to find that but Zevran had hoped for more. They were searching for an opportunistic criminal. One that happened upon an item that looked uniquely valuable in the museum. For now the police were questioning the usual suspects, rounding up their birdies. They were following all the tried and true methods for letting a case slip through their fingers. Leliana was one of the few that suspected the crime might be about more than mere valuables, but even she was hesitant. They were lucky that he was available to fly to Ferelden. Otherwise they would have had to deal with someone like Talisen who would have lorded their mistakes over their heads.

Some of his associates were like that, but Zevran was surprisingly soft when it came to teaching others. He didn't think that his tactics were so different than police work in the end. But perhaps they originated in such a place where he could see patterns the police could not. Their methods were sound, but not likely to be able to find them a culprit for a crime of this size. Their thief could want to steal such an important piece but afford to not immediately try to fence it. They were looking for a collector most likely. Either a collector or someone working for one. He could find either, but preferred to go after the collector, the one who'd requested the impossible to get piece. Otherwise there was little chance he'd get that vase back and earn his commission.

The police looked for the footmen. It was routine, a way to find information that might be useful, though Zevran doubted they would get anything at all. The footman wouldn't know the entire. They were hired to be dispensable. They were the dupes that would do the heavy labor and be caught on tape, so they'd never know where the vase was to end up.

Under his direction that they began to assemble a list of real suspects. Not a list of just anyone, but some of the wealthiest names in Denerim appeared upon his list. It was predominantly humans with a sprinkling of merchant dwarves trying to make a name for themselves and two lone elves, both merchants. He would look into them, but didn't suspect the elves at all. They were too new, too eager to be this bold. His list of people had means and traveled a good deal – enough that they might be in contact with fences or people in other countries with a vested interest in Dalish artifacts. Many of the board members and donors fit that description.

But for all the businessmen, merchant princes and bankers on the list, only one name stood out to him – Catalina Brosca. She was one of two women on the board of the museum. There was a litany of respectable reasons why she wouldn't steal the vase, but he couldn't be sure until he met her. He'd meet all the names eventually, just to be sure. Zevran found himself going back to her name, even as Leliana listed all the reasons why a board member wouldn't be their culprit. She was a little offended that of his sureness that it was a museum patron. Most of them were rich and influential to start, but also would have nothing to gain and much to lose from such a high profile theft.

Zevran wasn't so certain that Ser Brosca was involved in the theft, but rather got the feeling that she wasn't all she seemed. She wasn't an obvious thief, it was rather quite the opposite. She was too interesting, the only person from their group of players that seemed like she might do anything unexpected. The others were too stodgy for some and others too eager to climb up the social ladder to do anything unacceptable.

He looked at the photo of her again. It was black and white, but all the more striking for the contrast. She still wore the brand that marked her as an outcast among her people, though her file said that was no longer the case. Her sister had bore an Aeducan son, and the family lifted to that house.

The brand could have been removed, if she'd wanted. He would guess that it was almost like a badge of honor with her, because there was some innate pride in her expression, though she'd smiled for the lens. Catalina Brosca didn't seem like she cared what other people might think of her at all, and that intrigued Zevran.

"Leliana, what do you know of this Catalina Brosca, hmm? The beautiful dwarva that is a patron of the museum, among other things?" He asks.

She puts her hand on her hip as she thinks. "I know she's some sort of inventor. Came to the surface and made a fortune. Friends with a lot of powerful people, Zevran." Her warning didn't even register in his mind.

"Inventor? What did she invent?"

"You know that clip that goes on everything now, from backpacks to bungee cords? The super strong little part that is made out of that unbreakable plastic? I don't know what they're called, but she invented it. And she came up with the super strong plastic molding process, supposedly after climbing a mountain." She purses her lips before she continues. "It might be true, who's to say why she did it. But she's rolling in money, not just like millions of crowns, but tens of millions."

"So not just beautiful but smart. And very, very wealthy. Those are wonderful traits."

"It's not her. What cause would she have for doing it? She isn't even elven." Leliana pointed out.

"Oh?" Zevran raised an eyebrow, "and I would have a better reason simply because I am an elf?"

"Well, it would at least be part of your history." Leliana said.

"Maybe that's why she wanted it. She wanted some history." Zevran was musing now, lost in his own train of thought. A casteless stealing some history for herself, when the dwarves would claim she has none save for whatever her ancestors did to offend enough to be shunned from society. He could see it in his mind's eye – smart, rich and bored, perhaps with an agenda? There was little way to know what her motivations were without knowing her, but he was getting ahead of himself.

First he had to meet this inventor, millionaire and adventuring beauty. Then he hoped all would become clearer.


	2. Chapter 2

There is one thing that is certain, a great mind was behind this all. He could appreciate the complex artistry of the crime, the more he sought out answers. Information coming in his direction was thin on the ground, for the moment. That may change once he had the chance to meet some of the names on his list. Anticipation trilled within him at the thought of meeting his number one suspect.

There are other people that could have done it, surely, but none that Zevran thinks have done it. Without a clear motive, he can't accuse Catalina Brosca. Right now he wouldn't dare tell his superiors, but he's certain of what he will find when he meets her. She is perhaps some part of this fascinating youthful movement. The more he thought on it, the more he could see it. Striking against human institutions that house artifacts for profit would make a tantalizing target. This whole plan might be a radical theory put into motion. 

He could understand the thought behind it. Outsiders, museums in this case, would find and take artifacts away from the peoples to whom it rightly belonged. To cage it in museums in the name of celebrating history. The same history they deny the elves, cloaking it in chantry rhetoric and lies. Zevran isn't unsympathetic, but anger alone serves no purpose. Instead he uses his power to wonders about her. What motivates Ser Brosca? Is it principle or is it amusement that goads her into doing thing? 

Those are the types of questions only answered by learning the temperament of a person. Luckily, it isn't hard when the person in question attends plenty of social events and is often seen out on the town. Thank the Maker she isn't a reclusive genius.

Zevran paced around his hotel room, thinking to himself. There are plenty of funds at his disposal, so he isn't worried, but unsettled. This is the beginning of a case, his favorite time. There's nothing to unsettle him, not yet. Still, the race of his nerves lends him to pacing when he should be down at the hotel bar drinking and enjoying himself. It wasn't yet the time for pacing, that usually came later. When he figures out what it is, he almost sighs, as if disappointed that it took him this long to figure out.

He's more impressed than he should be by Catalina, even at this early stage. It's rare to discover a person such as her in his line of work. Dealing with thieves and valuables of all sort lends itself to seeing the worst in people. 

The Crows never care about mixing business and pleasure. He will, of course, reserve a true judgement for once they meet, but he cannot help but like what he knows of her so far.

For many generations the Antivan Crows were rightly considered some of the worst sort of people, but a necessary evil. They were assassins, and very renowned ones at that. They never failed, or at least if they did they kept throwing the whole guild at the job until it was finished. But a century again they'd seen change in the wind and had gone into legitimate business.

Insurance, of all things had become their trade. They turned the secret might of Antiva into public gold, and earned their respectability through riches. He was still trained in combat, in defense, but more than that he was trained to read people and recover things. There were no restrictions on how he got things back, though he preferred to work within the law. It gained him friends like Leliana, and contacts outside of the Crows were too valuable of a resource to just throw out.

He called down to the maid service and at their instruction left his dark blue slim cut suit on the bolt inside his door. Someone would come and retrieve it for pressing before tomorrow. He had a woman he needed to make sure noticed his presence, and blue looked best on him.

######

Catalina isn't even sure of how it all began. It was a question, but not really for her, just in general. But it ate at her, consumed her intellect as nothing had recently, and for more than a year, she planned.

It was perfect.

She's no stranger to crime, because before there was a nephew named Endrin and House Aeducan claimed her sister's family as their own, they were nothing. Less than nothing in the eyes of other dwarves, a lot with no recourse and a life of nothing but consequences for a life none of them chose. Casteless was their official name, and that was probably the only official thing about them.

These days, she was no longer casteless. An Aeducan in house, though she had been offered a chance to set up her own. Funny how a lot of attention on the surface and plenty of money had gained her more status with her people than it had with humans.

But respectability was boring, and aside from an invention that came from her necessity more than a need to create, she wasn't doing anything. At least, she didn't feel like she was doing anything worthwhile. All those years she yearned to be rich, to be someone else, someone that didn't have to sleep in the dirt in a filthy hovel hadn't prepared her for this...life. Humans hadn't given her the simple acceptance she thought she'd get, and surface dwarves, even with all their talk of equality, stuck to the caste system. Her boredom was extreme these days and sometimes she found herself missing Leske and Berhat, and all the skull-cracking that had once been the best way to make money in Orzammar.

Being rich on the surface was a vast improvement from her Orzammar life, that was true, and she didn't want to dull her own memories by glorifying the worst parts of her life. Catalina sought out excitement in other ways, climbing mountains, flying airplanes and learning to sail were a few of her hobbies. The one time her sister had come to the surface to visit, Rica had thought her mad for all the things she did. She'd been content to sit inside the house and marvel at the luxuries within. Catalina needed more than that.

Perhaps that's why she hadn't turned away when the young elf had approached her. At first he'd just tried to shake her down for some money, but then it had become more than that. A pamphlet pressed into her hand, a meeting here, a rally there. She'd tried to distance herself, but found that she had a lot more in common with the elves of the alienage than the human nobility and rich surfacers. They were searching for their past, and she wanted some meaning in her life, even if she had to take it.

The organization of the whole thing had been her idea, though she left the casting of her little play to those that could afford to make their presence known. There were so many young faces eager to take credit for this, to have the seekers and police know that elves outsmarted them, and she didn't want to take that away from them. It was a small victory but a victory nonetheless.

"My lady." A knock on a door drew Catalina out of her thoughts, and she turned her attention to her seneschal, a man called Varel.

He was steadfastly loyal to her, but not blind about it. She liked him because he was honest, practical and level-headed. He also didn't put up with her bullshit.

So when she sent out a stream of curses that included some more creative names for his title, he ignored her and continued opening the curtains. He then took the tray that was resting on a table outside her door and brought it to her, laden with breakfast and correspondence.

"Good morning, my lady." He says finally, giving her a look. "That was quite impressive this morning, I do think you've made up some new ones."

"Oh good. It's tiring work trying to impress you, Varel." Catalina replies, brusque to disguise her embarrassment. She knew he was used to her moods, but she still chastised herself whenever she lost her stone cool.

"A messenger came by this morning with the letter on top. I think you'll want to read that first." He noted, pointing out the wax-sealed letter atop her tray. "Is there anything else you require at the moment?" He asks.

Catalina yawns and shakes her head. "No thank you." She says unnecessarily.

"I'll be back to draw your bath in an hour." He says, and then bows before taking his leave.

It was like this nearly every morning between them, but today she didn't mind quite so much. Her mind was already full, thinking on the events of yesterday and her part in them. Before she took up the letter, she thought about why.

Yes, it had been exciting to do use her intellect for something other than making money. And this hadn't been about making money, not precisely. The museums and authorities were denying the elven, the true owners of the vase the chance to even examine it in detail. Tevinters were able to peek and prod at it from stem to stern, but the elves were denied the chance to even see it up close. Look at it in the display, they'd been told.

She'd befriended people in the alienage a long time in the past. Back when she was no one, but the only no one that wasn't an elf that would help them. Shianni was her friend now, a hard won friendship that came after years of working together and trust. When they came to her and asked, if she could do something about the vase, get them a chance to see it, Catalina had responded.

She even thought she might put it back, if the museum asked nicely enough. She doubted that they would, however. It would be an outcry and such nonsense, and much finger pointing would ensue. For now, it would stay with the people who would treasure it as part of their own heritage, those that had been denied a chance to study it and reclaim part of their past.

As it should be.


	3. Chapter 3

It's a charity luncheon, which is to say it cost him two hundred and fifty sovereigns to get a seat, but that's how they go. At least it's for charity and they will bill his employer for the amount instead of it coming from his own pockets. Zevran doesn't care, not really, though he could ill-afford it himself. He's sure it's a good cause and all of that, but he's really here to see Catalina Brosca. 

They are in some kind of event hall, roughly decorated to suit whatever organization the lunch proceeds benefit. Apparently there is entertainment while they eat, a string quartet. Every table is round and decorated with a large spray of green and white flowers as the centerpiece. It reminds him vaguely of a wedding he's attended, but he can't remember if he was invited or if it was for business. When he finds his place, he's a table away from her, and a quick switch of cards puts him at an angle to watch her whenever she's sitting down.

People mill about at first, and the string players start with standards as background noise. He's waiting near the door when she comes in, and Zevran recognizes her immediately. She looks as though she'd rather be anywhere but here, a plastic smile fixed on her face, but she effuses the proper greetings and talks to a good number of people before someone flits over to tell her what table she's seated at. Funny how he didn't get that kind of attention.

They don't talk, but they don't have to make conversation to notice each other. Once she knows he's watching her, she keeps her own eye on him. It was paramount that he get her attention, but he didn't want to talk to her, not yet. He gets her interest with a smile when she spot him with his camera out, taking pictures of her and the luncheon itself. Mostly just shots of her though, the people she interacted with, the look on her face when she she spoke. For appearances he takes pictures of the rest of the crowd as well, but its really just her. 

She's much like the photo Leliana showed him – long, dark hair atop a soft face and a curvy figure, but more interestingly, doesn't try to cover up the brand on her face that marked her as one of the casteless. It's just as he suspected, and almost a statement of defiance the way she wears it. She's wearing a dress that is just short enough to be a little shocking for this crowd, though he's seen shorter hemlines. It's the color of key limes and trimmed in white, the design on it reminiscent of a window pane. 

The two of them will make a good pair, he decides.

She's intrigued by him, he can tell, but she never approaches him. There's no demand to know who he is and why he's taking pictures, but a quiet interest. It's as if she's taking stock of the situation herself, and found it to her benefit to wait and let him approach her. 

There's something to the way she moves through the crowd, the carefully orchestrated bites of food she brings to her lips. He is obliged to eat his own food, but he does watch her, even then. She talks more than eats, a polite smile in place as she asks questions he cannot hear, and pushes food around her plate. At least those motions he thinks he understands. She is careful when eating around others, her movements too precise. It's a care that comes from scrutiny and a distinct lack of manners or food, for a long while, then being forced to behave according to rules that were never part of life before. It was an insecurity, and the only one he saw of hers.

That little flaw made her seem more real to him. Catalina is cool when she glances back at him, never betraying whether she is fascinated or unnerved by his gaze. She smiles when appropriate, even when angry, keeping her own feelings locked away. Zevran can see all this just by watching her eat one lunch. He wonders what else he will find out about her in the course of this investigation.

He's going to go back to Leliana with a roll of film just of her, and no real clues. To her, knowing a measure of Ser Brosca's character wouldn't be useful. It wouldn't help find the urn. To him, this trip was invaluable. Zevran's got all he's needed for this one little encounter, because he's watched her.

When the event wraps up and they take their leave, Zevran waits for her to leave before he goes. She looks back at him as she gets into the car, just a quick glance over her shoulder, but their eyes meet. He smiles at her and she smiles back, as if they were two innocents with nothing between them at all.

######

Some days, she couldn't get past the fact that people listened to her. Not just listened, followed her orders, waited for her instruction and tried their hardest not to let her down.

She had this office, a space for doing business! A view that looks out over some of the best parts of Denerim, and if she cranes her head just a bit, she can see the palace. Downstairs there's a laboratory, a place that is her own and no one else can enter without her permission. There are teams of people that just want to talk to her about the things she loves, figuring out how to make lives better with her work.

It's been years since she went to the surface as an exile after killing a crime lord, but Catalina still can't wrap her head around what her life has become. One day it was a menacing knock on her door and Berhat breathing down her sister's cleavage as he threatened their existence and then three years later, she is a millionaire, richer than she's ever imagined and living on the surface. There's status and a caste and life for her under the Stone as well, but visiting Orzammar always makes her feel like she's going back in time.

Catalina owns the surface. Not just her home and company, but HOUSES and COMPANIES. She buys them and their talent, so they can come work for her. She owns stock and land and a boat, and pretty much everything she could invest her coppers in when she finally had coppers to call her own. She knows how to play numbers games, knows how to make the money last.

She's got so much money they offered to burn off her brand and have a mage heal her skin so it wouldn't scar too much, but she refused it. There were so many things she'd hated about her past, but she couldn't go erasing it. That brand had defined her life until she was forced out of Orzammar. The thought of just removing it and settling into life in the upper echelons didn't sit well with her.

Her assistant pokes her head into the office. "My lady, you have a lunch meeting at Lisette's. Your car will be around in a half hour."

"Is that the Orlesian place?" Catalina asks, trying to recall the menu.

"Yes, my lady. I put the menu in with your morning post so you could look at it in advance. Do you need anything else?"

"That will be all." Catalina said, smiling at the efficiency of the young woman as she answered.

Her lunch would be piled high with fancy Orlesian bread and deep, ruby colored wine, though she would have none of the alcohol while working. She wanted to spend an afternoon in her lab, and needed a clear head. At least it wasn't another charity do like yesterday. She could barely stand them, not just because every last person, from the waiters to the benefit officials were fake, but because they only tolerated her among them. She knew thinly veiled contempt when she saw it and threw it back in their faces when she could.

Didn't it just kill them that she was richer than most of the humans? If they only knew the half of it, she was sure that they would hate her even more.

There were times when she still woke up and thought she heard her mother ranting. The pungent scent of moss wine would hang heavy in the air, and she and Rica would hope that their mother would be too drunk to slap them around. Those weren't even the bad days. The real bad days were always when there was nothing, no bread, no water, nothing in the house. Her mother would take what little they had and trade it for more wine. When there was nothing to trade, she'd trade herself for coin. 

More than once the barely-stifled grunts of an unknown patron made their way through the walls to her ears. Kalah was always venomous afterward, scathing about the stupid men she'd duped, about Rica's inability to find paying work, about Catalina's father and her own various shortcomings. Whatever money Kalah got, she didn't share with them. If she'd sunk to using sex, then there was nothing in the house to eat for them, and no chance of it coming from their mother. Rica was older, her protector. Before Beraht, she would sweep streets for hours on an empty stomach until her arms shook, just so she could earn bread to feed the two of them.

Once a nobleman had come down to the Dust Town, feeling guilty. He'd started a relief organization for "those the Stone left behind". It didn't take long for Kalah to make herself unwelcome with him, and once he found out that she often bartered away his offerings of stale bread and hard cheese for wine, he would give them no more. Catalina had seem the benevolent face of charity as it turned away from her, sickened by her continued existence. The nobleman had only wanted to feed people when he could feel like a savior, not when he knew their truth. He was giving out food to every other drunk in Dust Town, but since Kalah was stupid enough to get caught and not care, he would let her kids starve. Generosity came at such costs. Eventually he gave up and went back tot he Diamond Quarter – with a new casteless mistress already fat with his child.

Catalina had seen too much ugliness to cozy up to it. Part of her felt guilty, because she was a part of this morass of wealth, this righteous mess. But she liked the comforts, the ease of life that she now had, no longer squeaking by. When champagne was wending its way through her system on top of the best oysters and fine salad greens, she loved the money. When she could go to her lab and shut the door with the edict that no one disturb her, she loved the power. But outside, where she saw elves gathered in the alienage and benevolent humans taking used clothes or throwing coin their way, she felt angry and unsettled within her spirit. Wasn't she supposed to do something? Hadn't that been her?

She went to lunches and dinners and auctions for the sake of appearances. But there were other, more meaningful ways to support people, as Catalina knew from her own experience. She didn't like charity, or the thought of placing herself above other so she could give hand outs. She'd craved a better way to help, and used her own intellect to devise one. Her mind was considered one of the best in Ferelden, certainly enough to win her money and prizes. 

So why hadn't she anticipated being watched by an elf? Yesterday, she'd laid eyes on him, not a nemesis or a foe, but certainly not a friend. He was a disarmingly handsome elf who'd conveyed with a single glance that he would know all of her secrets. Somehow, she was already sure he would find them out.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time they meet, it's dinner and dancing, still in the name of charity. Zevran is wearing the standard tuxedo, but she is stunning. It isn't that she's dressed beautifully, though she is. It's a number of things – the way she moves, how she carries herself, and the coolness of her smile all rolled into one.

Aloof is a good way to describe her, he decides as he watches, waiting to approach her. People talk and give her the glad hand, but they never really touch her, the smiles she gives never reach her eyes and whatever words they say fail to move her to more than polite laughter. It works for her because it isn't haughty, just a little bored.

And that's how Zevran knows that she's behind the theft, because she's absolutely bored silly, and it's written all over her face. She's also angry, but that's more hidden than the boredom. He sees her flush red when someone makes an offhand comment about 'the elven problem', but she says nothing. Ser Brosca's eyes flash dark with righteous anger even as a smile sits perched on her face. There's more to her than just a millionaire playing around, but he hasn't put together why. 

The dinner is over quickly, since the main attraction of the night isn't the food, but the dancing. There is a large band assembled at the front of the room, this space more lavishly decorated than the luncheon they'd attended across town. The dance floor dominates the room and behind the band a projector plays images on the wall. Lights above them change color and make it seem more like a private concert than a benefit.

He watches her dance with a man, a bann or some sort of lordling, her demeanor outwardly pleasant, but she was too stiff to be warm. The man is oblivious, however, and thinks her smiles genuine, and that her laughter is for him. Zevran can tell it isn't – she seems as if she despises her dance partner. When the man releases her two songs later, she stalks away to the refreshments, and immerses herself in conversation to keep him from asking her to dance again. 

He isn't sure who the man was or what he did to earn her ire, but the hot bit of hatred seems short-lived, as if he'd raised her hackles unknowingly. When Zevran makes his way towards her, still on the fringes of the dancing, she's nearly recovered. Eventually her anger cools, though he isn't sure it truly recedes, and she goes back to being witty, sharp-tongued and bored.

"My lady Brosca." Zevran says when he finally is allowed to get close enough to speak to her. "How lovely to see you again."

She smiles at him, and Zevran is sure that it's the first true smile he's seen from her all throughout the party. The music is playing around them after a short break in the songs. He's going to ask her to dance, and he knows she will accept.

"You have me at a disadvantage, my friend. You seem to know all about me, my name and where to run into me, but all I know is that you're handsome." She said to him.

"Ah, but now you've gotten me to blush and I think you have the advantage." He says, making her laugh. It's a rich, hearty laugh, not refined but real, and he warms to the sound instantly. "But excuse my bad manners. My name is Zevran Arainai."

"Antivan?" She asks, an eyebrow cocked.

"Could anyone else make a suit look as good?" Zevran countered, making her laugh again. He extended his arm to her to walk out to the dance floor. She hesitates for just a moment then takes it.

"I'm not much of a dancer." She confesses, but he just smiles.

The number is a slow one, so they waltz at a drowsy pace. She is quite tall he realizes, not just from the high-heeled shoes she wore, but she is tall for a dwarf. Catalina Brosca fits neatly up against him when he pulls her closer, and Zevran decides that he likes her height, and all the advantages that come with it.

"Are you a Crow?" She asks as they dance.

"Yes." There's no point in hiding it. "I came here to find a precious urn, but I think you know that already."

"Oh yes, I heard about that." She says casually. He could almost believe her, had he not been holding her in his arms and felt the way her heart sped. He laughs.

They don't talk after that, not really. It's about him holding onto her, touching her as she slides around him. A fast song plays after the waltz ends, the beat stomping out in time to the thrum of his heart as they move together. They dance for three more songs, and she is a better dancer than she'd let on. When there's an attempt to cut in, she pleads fatigue and leads him from the dance floor. Zevran plucks a glass of wine from the tray of a roving waiter and hands it to her.

"Will you come back to my place for a drink?" She asks him.

"What if I don't drink, my lady?" Zevran poses a question back to her, trying to throw her off balance. It doesn't seem to work.

"I think you do, and I think I have your favorite brand of liquor." Catalina answers.

"Oh, and what might that be?" Zevran asks.

"Temptation." Catalina replies, not missing a beat. 

Zevran laughs out loud at that, a hearty bleat of a laugh that makes the people around them turn and look. "I may never wish to leave in that case." He says finally.

"Are you always such a dreadful tease, or is it just for me?"

"Haven't you realized yet that I am here for you?" He whispers to her. Zevran pulls her closer, continuing to whisper in her ear. "And I've almost worked out how you stole it, but it would be good of you to fill in the gaps."

Catalina laughs this time, but it is a quiet, curling laugh that both intrigues and frightens him a little. This is a woman capable of great things, but whether they are for good or ill is a matter of interpretation. He can feel the dichotomy of her essence rolling in that unguarded bit of laughter that's so soft only he can discern the sound from the din around them. "I have no idea what you mean, Ser Arainai. But if I did dip into acts so uncivilized, and if you asked very, very nicely, I might consider letting you catch me."

"Now that you know who I am and why I'm here, am I still invited for that nightcap?" He asks.

"I'm all the more intrigued by what your continued presence might bring." Catalina replies.

She kisses him only once on the way home, and he's a little impressed by her restraint. Like any good predator sussing out its prey, Zevran takes his cues from her, letting her actions tell him how to play it.

When they pull up to the beautiful brick townhouse in an old, rich neighborhood in Denerim, Zevran can't help but be a little impressed. Buying a home here showed savvy that not many people would have known about. There were newer, richer neighborhoods with trendy shops and art galleries, but this place had its own cache that simply couldn't be replicated. It had taste, not just wealth.

She lets him in her house as if it means nothing to reveal her sanctum to him. He's sequestered in a library full of large, floor to ceiling bookcases and overstuffed with books while Catalina talks to her seneschal. There's a fire burning though the night is already warm, but it adds undeniable atmosphere to the room. Zevran amuses himself by looking around, picking up books and pieces of paper to see if maybe she was careless enough to leave her heist notes out where he could find them.

He doesn't find a smoking gun of that sort, but does see several works about elven history, about dwarves and lyrium, and the rise of Andraste. There's newer works mixed in, about the state of Ferelden, a biography of King Maric and a pamphlet about civil rights. This might be the library of a scholar – or a revolutionary. She obviously wanted him to understand this about her, otherwise she would have left him in some other room.

"Ahem." A male voice catches him unaware and Zevran turns away from his investigation. "My lady wished for me to get you a drink of whatever you like while she is indisposed." The man says. He is dressed in livery, though he has the bearing of authority. 

"Just a brandy, please." Zevran says with a smile. "Antivan if you have it."

"Of course ser." The liveried man replies, and opens a hidden cabinet to reveal a stash of liquor and crystal tumblers. He pours two drinks and sets them on the table near Zevran, then retreats from the room with a bow.

He picks up the glass and goes back to his perusal, sipping at the excellent alcohol. Though the furnishings in this room were obviously placed here for comfort or sentimental value, they were fine nonetheless. From the fleeting glimpses he got of the rest of the house, Catalina Brosca lived well. It would be s shame for her to lose it.

The doors behind him opened once more, but this time he heard them. Catalina came in, dressed in a much more casual dress in a dove grey, and barefoot. Her hair was down around her shoulders, freed from the bun she'd coiled it in for the dinner, the ends curling from their long captivity. She looked gorgeous.

"I see Varel gave you a drink already." She says. She went over to take the second drink that the seneschal had poured for her and sipped it. "I hope you weren't bored."

"Not at all." He answers. "You have quite the library."

"I do, especially for someone that spent a good portion of their life illiterate." She admits, offering him glimpses of her past freely. He suspected she did that so she wouldn't have to tell her life story to others. Tell them a bit and elaborate on it, then redirect. He knew the tactic well.

He smiles at her. "Shall I tell you about growing up as an orphan in Antivan City? I'll tell you my sad, sad tale if you tell me yours." He offers, the tiniest bit of irony in it.

She laughs at the suggestion, a snort before she turns her back and walks to the settee in the room. Folding her legs beneath her, she sits and drinks. He joins her without invitation, sitting on the other end.

"You have a lovely home." He ventures. 

"I like to think so." She says, taking another drink. "Would you like the tour?"

He chuckles. 'Not tonight, I think. I was just admiring how comfortable and cozy you've made this room. It's much like you."

"Cozy?"

"With a great number of books. A scholar's library."

"So I'm homey and stacked is what you're saying?" She asks, finally smiling back at him.

"I might put it more elegantly – something like, yours is beauty with volumes written in hidden depths." He answers. They both laugh, and its like the laughter smooths whatever strain had unfurled between them.

"Are you bored?" He asks, beginning his questions anew.

She hesitates before answering this time. "I'm not sure what you mean." She says, evading the question. "I have my work." She was very good at this. When she spoke of her work, she looked him in the eye, after her artful hesitation in answering the question. It would seem like honesty to so many others, but he's clever enough to know when he's being led.

"Is that all?" He prompts, not letting it go. Perhaps he will frustrate before she does, but not unless they both play their parts.

"There are friends and people in my life."

"No one special?" He asks. She shakes her head. "That is all very well then. I don't like the thought of competition." He says.

"Are you interested in me or just in what you think I've done?" She asks. Her dark eyes sparkle with the question, as if daring him to answer one way or the other. 

"More interested in you, right now." He answers.

She smiles at him, but it's still cautious and guarded. He won't be winning her trust tonight, but he would be disappointed if it took only one night to earn. "That's good to know." She says, lowering her voice.

He isn't sure which one of them moved first, but they were kissing hard by the time his senses came back to him. He hadn't expected it to go so far so quickly, his only thought in seeing Catalina again tonight was to tease her, to tempt her with bits of information and meaningful glances. 

In his mind, this would have played out perfectly. It would have been a restrained seduction, ending with honeyed kisses after a playful drink or two. He would have retreated to think over their interaction, to plan a strategy that would lay siege to her senses and give him his answers as quickly as possible. But now, he and Catalina were dancing and neither one of them were truly in control. A thrum of madness flushed through Zevran's veins, desire pulsing through him like lifeblood. Catalina's lips were busy, not whispering secrets as he would have liked, but kissing him as if their very lives depended upon it. Even in urgency she didn't lose her artistry, her hands busy at his clothes as her immediate attention was elsewhere. 

Never one to be shown up, Zevran let his own hands roam over her figure. Neither of them were dressed for much longer, and as he gets bare before him, she reveals her skin to him. She looks more delicate with her clothes off than he would have believed. The curves that seem so obvious when clothed were gentler somehow without the drape of fabric over them. Or perhaps it was just that he appreciated the sight of them more without her clothes. 

Catalina is a breathtaking sight. He's been with may beautiful people before, but she is exceptional. The magnificent bronze expanse of her skin isn't flawless – there are marks all over, souvenirs from fights or accidents he assumes, scars that cross the soft skin over her muscular frame. Dwarves are given to stockiness, but Catalina body has a length to it, as if her mountain climbing and other adventures had stretched her and left her the appearance of extra length. She was almost rangy, but still top heavy despite it all.

Everything is rushed. They are a tangle as they come back to each other, all limbs and skin and what feels like more than four hands. He wants to kiss every part of her, to make her laugh and whisper his name, but at this rate, they'll just wind up rutting like wild things that can't control their lusts. There are times when he is fond of such actions, just not now, and generally not for the first time with a beautiful new partner.

With a supreme effort, Zevran pulls back from her. He'd been licking a trail up the column of her neck, but pulled away when he reached her chin. "Catalina" He says, the thickness of his voice making her name even more accented. "Catalina." He repeats, this time taking both of her hands in his as he does.

Only this stops her. "Is something wrong?" She looks confused, and for a moment he regrets interrupting the flow of their bodily conversation. Words almost seem vulgar at this point.

Zevran catches her chin with a finger. "No. I just simply wanted to see you fully before we went on." That was only a partial truth, but he didn't explain the rest.

His request made Catalina blush. He saw it creeping down her neck and to her valley between her breasts. She turns away briefly, looking into the fire. When she faces towards him again, she smiles impishly, and releases his hands. With a step away from him, she stands back and turns on the spot, pivoting smoothly as she displays herself with arms aloft. She's playing the supplicant to his appraising gaze. He looks her over without reservation, appraising the sweet swell of her ass and the lift of her chin. He can't help but smile at her.

As she begins her spin again, he catches her around the waist. "Like what you see?" She asks, breathing hard. They are flush against one another, skin to skin, and Zevran's sure she can feel the rapid staccato of his heartbeat. If she can't, it's because she's surely distracted by the heat of his hard cock pressed against her.

"Very much." He replies.

"Good. I have a request of my own then, but I think it will be in line with your desires." She says. He would have given her near anything right then, save for secrets that were more precious than his own life. She would have a good chance at getting those as well though.

Catalina smiles as she speaks again. "I always like to be on top. At least until I don't." She tells him.

Zevran laughs, he can't help it. True to her words, when they finally get back to each other, laying next to the fire, she's mounting his hips, and looking down on him. By that time their combined desire has them back to insensible, heady urgency, and he lets her rule. When he pushes up into her, all slick heat and velvet, he's harder than veridium. 

There are times when that first feeling as he buries himself deep in a warm cunt feels like home, but Catalina doesn't elicit that feeling. She is primal heat, calling to the animal in him, the feeling that is both hunger and the feeding. They fuck, because there is no other word for it, and it is wild chaos unleashed on his carefully cultivated persona. When he closes his eyes, unbidden images of choppy seas fill his mind. She is like the sea, placid and beautiful on one side, and stormy, dangerous darkness on the other. Rough hips bump and grind as they move, and they roll together more than once. He's sure to have scratch marks down his back in the morning, because as they go on, it grows in intensity until they wear themselves out.

He's not sure if he's won or lost this round, but he is spent, he can't summon his wits enough to care.


	5. Chapter 5

In the morning, Catalina lays in her bed, replaying the night before over in her mind. There's a pleasant stiffness in her limbs, soreness in places that have't been touched in far too long. It adds up to a rich contentment, flowing through her like warm molasses. All due to one handsome elf. Zevran Arainai. He's fascinating – but interested in her for all the wrong reasons. While she should feel guilt or maybe fear that he might catch her, it never manifests. There's only a thrill that runs up her spine when she thinks of him, the softness of his voice in her ear, the pressure of his fingers on her skin. It's almost as exciting as watching all her plans move into action.

Well, in a completely different way. This was more foolhardy than daring, but then again, her last adventure could be described in the same manner.

After their escapades in the library, she'd invited him properly to her bed. It was more forgiving than the rugs in the library, in any case. He'd gone in the early hours of the morning, citing that he needed to change and shower for work, and she needed a chance to get some rest before she set out for work in the morning. 

It was strange for her to hear those words come from her own mouth, because she'd never considered her work to be like the standard day job. Sure she had to go, but she owned the company and considered her real work to be in the lab. Her results came after years of work and sometimes not at all. She headed a team of scientists, and sometimes did work with them, but more often now she had meetings with investors, with people looking to make money off her work or asking her to develop products.

Was it any wonder she was fed up by her life?

There was callous and casual cruelty all around her, and for all her pleas and words, no one seemed to care. The surfacers cared not for the plight of their own poor, much less for those underground. For all her wealth, she still felt like she could help no one that needed it. Rica was the one in Orzammar helping the casteless, not her. If the secret to helping the world lay in fucking the right people and eliminating their rivals, she was ready. Maybe before, when she'd been shaken by her forced ejection from her home, when she'd killed her biggest foe and freed herself, and when she'd be learning to live with the endless sky above she hadn't been ready. But she was now.

Her mind wanders while she's at work, always straying towards thoughts of Zevran. She's delighted but not surprised when he calls her for dinner that evening.

That night he doesn't stay with her, but he does the next. He claims to be investigating her, but she knows there is more to it than that. If it was solely an investigation, he would be more like the men that have taken to dogging her shadows, or the watch guard put on her house. 

She knows there are people asking questions, and not getting many answers. Few know of her ties to any part of the resistance, though Catalina's been openly sympathetic to the hahren of the Denerim alienage before. Back when she first came to the surface, it was Shianni that had given her aid, in exchange for help getting rid of slavers preying upon her people. Shianni was a good woman, but her life had waged a harsh war upon her that she ill deserved. Her tongue could be loosened with the drink she chose to use as a method of chasing away her demons.

Still, even Shianni didn't know enough. Likely Zevran was cunning enough to put together the pieces, but not prove them. It should have unsettled Catalina to realize that, but it excited her.

#####

This is dangerous, but then again if it wasn't neither one of them would be interested. She takes him out again, three times that week and for the first time in a very long time, Zevran is having fun. Catalina is more than fun to him, and even acknowledging that is an accomplishment. He's drawn to her, so much that he starts to wonder if she's leading him off the real trail. Was he mistaken in suspecting her in the first place?

The next night is a late one at the police station, with him working next to the officers Leliana's put on the case. He's been out meeting the other names on his list, crossing them off with careful consideration. It wasn't a long list to begin with, but each name crossed off feels like a defeat. There's little to go on, but Zevran wants to unravel it. He's put an ad in the newspapers for tips, though there hasn't been anything substantial yet.

It's the young officer, the one that called him leth that gives him his first real lead on why Catalina Brosca might be behind the crime. Her help is inadvertent, but that night he spends his time learning about the elven youth movement, about the people that are involved in it and what they might be after.

He also learns that Catalina Brosca is quite cozy with several of the higher ups, people from the alienage and a few Dalish elves, including a Keeper. That alone means nothing, except he thinks she's been arranging for them to meet, and influencing her friends in the human nobility. She's known as somewhat of a wildcard amongst humans, a radical and free thinker whose genius and outsider status as a dwarf lets get away with a great many more social taboos than most.

Zevran also understands that if Catalina were no longer rich or influential, no one would pay any attention to her at all. And he thinks she may be counting on that, on regaining some anonymity when whatever goals she has are met.

She is part of this movement, he has no doubt. He thinks about her idly as he walks past a group of protesters. They are talking about the lack of funding in the mostly elven schools versus the ones in other parts of Denerim. A woman is shouting that the textbooks her son uses are over twenty years old. Zevran waits on the fringes of the crowd, listening and watching. 

There's a motley mix of people making up the group, and all of them look angry, overworked and ready to blaze at the barest strike of a match. Zevran wonders about the faces he sees, the ones he takes note of as shouting the loudest, or murmuring darkly. He's not sure what he's going to do with the information, who would he tell about the swirling undercurrent of violence he felt? Who would care?

Catalina would care, and he knows it. But that is of no use to him in this job, so he lets it go as he walks into the precinct.

The office is already busy, but he moves through them easily. The mob led his thoughts back to Catalina and he smiled to himself. She was as coy as she was beautiful, at least concerning the relic. He learned little from her night after night, that was to be sure, but at least he was keeping an eye on her. With their frequent dinners and long nights, he was monopolizing time that she might have put to use moving the urn or concocting another crime.

Officer Taneth informed him that there are whispers that elven scholars had the urn. She had already dismissed it as being fact, but she sounded proud when she told him. He'd nodded seriously in response to her admission. Leliana had dismissed it out of hand when he'd suggested it. She thought of the relic's value in terms of money, nothing more. There was far more to this than that.

"Zevran, how is your investigation going?" Leliana hands him a cup of coffee as he enters the station. She always seems to know when he's coming in. The secretary out front must buzz her intercom and let her know.

"I need to look around Catalina Brosca's house when she is out." He announces, speaking as the thoughts form in his mind. "It's time to learn if she's hiding anything in that beautiful townhouse."

"If she isn't?" Leliana asks, wary of wasting resources.

Zevran laughs lightly, thinking only ahead. "Then we rule it out and concentrate on the black markets where it is bound to wind up." He says, not letting the distaste of the half-truth dampen his smile. It was the course of action Leliana wanted to take, but even she could not balk at his wanting to get proof. Once there were certain nothing was hidden in the house, Leliana could search the private collectors, academics and curiosity traders all she wanted. Zevran was sure that she would find nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

Of course he would try to get into her house without her around, let a team do as much of a search as they can manage. It wouldn't hurt to let the police get an eyeful of Catalina's belongings, to let them know that she did like her antiquities. It wouldn't be enough for Leliana, but it might keep her from telling him that his dogged pursuit of Catalina wasn't pointless.

It takes an expensive, hand carved dwarven chair, but Zevran expenses it. It might have been some other kind, but no chair would need three movers and a driver save for the heavy stone dwarven versions. Leliana insisted that he have her men help as he did this, so he made them lift the chair. He's outside in the back of the truck, just one of the movers with his blond hair hidden under a cap that's pulled down low over his eyes. The seneschal wouldn't have recognized him, even if he had been paying any real attention to the men in jumpsuits, but he doesn't. Zevran makes a note to speak to Catalina about that, about how easily a faceless delivery man can infiltrate her house.

But she won't hear it until much later, because once he does this, it will be her move. He knows she will be upset with him, but it falls to her whether she will be amused and upset or simply angry. 

He lets the others do the actual heavy lifting, and takes out a tape measure to check that the entrance and doorways are wide enough. Confronted with their unscheduled delivery, the household is thrown into a small tizzy, and Varel is inattentive as he tries to phone his mistress to confirm that she did in fact, order the chair. Zevran takes the time to make his search of the house.

Each room is tastefully decorated, and all of it looks more or less like what he knows of Catalina. There are blue and white dishes on display in the breakfast nook, a formal dining room next to it with a large, heavy table of dark stained wood. The ground floor is searched easily, quickly. Even her private study holds nothing of consequence, though he does marvel that she has a home fax machine. It was cutting-edge tech, a ream of thermal paper threaded through it to receive messages at any time. He wondered who had permission to send messages to that machine.

Upstairs was harder. Varel stood in the main hallway, directing the chair and giving them all a disapproving look as he stretched the phone cord to its full length. He watched them as he spoke on the line, presumably with Catalina's secretary. Zevran motioned for one of the other men to speak.

"Where are we putting this, ser?" He man asked loudly. The chair was parked just inside the main door, almost blocking it. Varel grunted at them to wait, then gave whomever was on the other end of the phone a terse goodbye.

"I'll have to make room for it. Wait here." Varel says to them, then bustles off to gather the other servants to help him. A maid and a large woman in an apron follow him, and Zevran realizes that must be the whole of Catalina's household staff.

With the staff occupied, Zevran nods to the police officers and ascends the stairs to search the bedrooms. Catalina's room, though he's been there before, would be where she hid anything worth hiding. He ventures there first, giving the obvious spots a cursory once over. The room is striking, white trim and hardwood floors, the plaster on the walls painted yellow. There are large windows that let in light, and ceiling to floor draperies in grey that match the upholstered furniture in the room. All of the wood furniture is painted white, and the butter yellow of the walls is repeated in accents all over. But it is the windows that draw his eyes back, and he finally looks up.

The ceiling has a fresco painted on it. He should have noticed it before, the night when he stayed with her, but he didn't. Had he slept in her bed, he might of, but he merely rested there with her. The scene depicted on the ceiling takes him a second to place, but it is most certainly not human mythology, it's elven. At least, there are elves in what seems to be an underground setting, maybe a dwarven thiag of some sort but he's never seen the Deep Roads.

He follows the drawing, making note of it in his mind. It is definitely a city scene underground, and there are few dwarves and golems with the elves. This is no society he's ever heard of, but Zevran doesn't think this a flight of fancy or artistic license. She knows something about history, otherwise she would never make this the picture she woke up to see every day.

At the very edge she is there, painted into the scene. He stands underneath her, gazing up until he looks down. He is standing in front of her vanity table, three mirrors on a white desk with a grey cushioned seat pushed under it. He looked through this before, searching past her cosmetics and perfumes, and found nothing. The mirror shows him nothing but his reflection, but on a hunch, Zevran searches it again.

He's rewarded when the false bottom of a jewelry box reveals a cache of papers. There's a small leather bound book with what looks like notes in them, and the papers are translations and drawings. Catalina, it seems has been in the Deep Roads since she'd come to the surface.

The book's nearly filled, and he doesn't have time to read it all. A few words jump out to him as he skims it, Cadash thiag, and Arlathan and lights. He can't figure out what lights have to do with anything at all, and focuses on what little he can understand. He knows of Arlathan, but not Cadash and files it away in his mind. It doesn't seem relevant to his case, but he never discards information. There are other things, drafts of letters to her sister in Orzammar, comments on homelessness and castelessness in the same vein. She draws a lot of parallels to the elves and laments much her surface brethren, but there isn't much more to the book. It looks older, as if it were used in some journey, but not afterward except for consultation.

He puts all the papers back where he found them and glances back downstairs. The moving was underway again. Varel's voice came from the back of the house where he was directing the placement of the chair, and there was no one in sight. Zevran made his way downstairs without notice and settled back into the truck to think on what he'd seen. Catalina Brosca was leading him down intriguing roads, even if he wasn't sure exactly where they led. He wasn't even sure she knew, but with a questioning nature like hers, he was sure she was trying to find out.

Leliana wouldn't accept this as a motive, he was sure, but it was what he needed. Catalina, charming, beautiful Catalina, had a real reason to steal that vase now.

#####

Varel called Catalina's office, but she wasn't to be disturbed when she was working in the lab. When she returns the call, she's floating on a cloud of productivity that lasted through a whole day. This was what she loved more than running a business. The research, doing the work that had led to a business – that was Catalina's joy these days. It was a rare treat to be allowed a whole day in the lab.

He asks her about the chair, and it takes all of her willpower not to laugh over the phone. She swears that she did order it and forgot to tell him, purchasing it on a whim. He is mollified, though he grumbles as he hangs up the phone.

She hoped that at least the blasted thing was nice, since Zevran was using it to get into her house. Part of it hopes that it's one of those finely carved elven chairs, made from ironbark and formed into a throne. The Keepers of the Dalish used to have them, but in time their sacred woodworking traditions had become a way for them to raise much needed capital to keep their people safe. Their emissaries began coming to the cities to sell their wares, and their work was always prized by humans and other connoisseurs. Now reproductions flooded the market, though the work was hard to copy. The skill and detail that went into each piece wasn't something that could be mass produced, so even the copies were expensive.

There was no time for her to go home to check on her new purchase, blast that wretched man. She'd have to ask him about it that night, if she cared to let him know she approved of his little subterfuge. She returned to her work in a good humor, even if it didn't have the grace to welcome her back with anything more than endless paperwork and uneven results from her experiments.

Catalina was still laughing as she changed for dinner. She was to go fetch Zevran from the police station. This was the day for gossamer thin attempts by the police to discern whether she had any part in the theft, and what it may have been. There was little doubt that no one besides Zevran would understand or figure it out. Let them stare at her if it pleased them, it didn't trouble her overmuch to be under scrutiny. It's how she'd lived every day of her life since she'd stolen armor and entered a proving under an assumed name.


	7. Chapter 7

This morning she has a standing appointment, one that everyone at work knows about already. Catalina dresses carefully, taking the rollers out of hair that leave it in long, loose curls, pinning back the front with plenty of pins and spraying it into place. She wears her customary wide legged pants, but these are pleated like tiny accordions and are a dove grey. Paired with her white, high necked blouse, she is demure but not inconspicuous. Her outfit is gorgeous, but somewhat casual, because this is an informal meeting.

She's going to see her best friend, King Alistair.

When she gets to the palace for breakfast, he's not waiting for her like he usually is. He's been busy, she knows. The news is full of the kinds of things that keep him busy day in and day out. A protection officer lets her in with a nod and she sits in the morning room alone, a tea tray already on the table so she wouldn't have to starve while she waited. She took tiny sips, preferring the heat of the drink to the liquid itself, cupping it in her hands as she goes to look out the window.

"Pegicorn is on his way." She hears from outside the door and nearly snorts. Pegicorn was Alistair's nickname from his protection guards? She was going to tease him about that.

Pegicorn entered the room shortly thereafter, rushing in as if he'd run the whole distance down the hall and crashed to a stop at the door. She was sure he hadn't run, but he had been walking fast. She smiled even as she stood with her back to him. This man was like a brother to her, and there was nothing she wouldn't do for him. Before she was rich and he was a king, they'd both been searching for something, and neither one would have survived without the other. Their monthly breakfasts were now the only time they could carve out to see each other, but she never missed one if she could help it.

"Lina." He said, and she turned around. He let out a low whistle at her appearance, and she laughed. "You look great." He said unnecessarily.

"So do you." She said, meaning it. Alistair was always handsome, but these days he was taking the advice of someone better versed in fashion and image than himself. His slender cut charcoal grey suit fit him like a particularly well made glove and he wore it without a tie, the white shirt underneath open at the neck. The jacket is especially flattering on him, with a neat pocket square in white pressed into a clean horizontal line adoring the single breasted but double vented style that seems to play to his need to put his hands in his pockets. Critics said it made him look common when he did that, but Catalina thought it made him seem approachable.

When he takes the jacket off and she catches a glimpse of the patterned lining and smiles, knowing that it likely matched his socks. The whole of the suit screams daytime, less formal than what he might wear if they were meeting later in the day. Alistair motioned her back to the chaise she'd been sitting on before and sat in the chair across from her, his jacket hanging over the back.

"So you have someone new in your life?" He asked. When she just smiled around the teacup, he laughed. "You have that look about you. I can always tell. He's the wrong sort, I take it?"

"Aren't they always?" She replies instantly, but then thinks about it. "I may be the wrong sort for him, instead of the other way around for a change." She said.

"Nonsense." Alistair answers, reaching out to take a pastry from the tray. "You're always so hard on yourself. I'm sure he's more impressed by you than I would be by him."

Catalina laughs, despite herself. "You might be right there, Your Majesty." Her giggles increase at the scowl he gave her for using his title, but she went on once she regained herself. "Wait, before we delve any further into my love live, I must ask you something. Pegicorn?" Her arched eyebrow added all the question needed and Alistair actually blushed.

"I am the daintiest of winged unicorns, it's true." He said and this time they both laughed. "I'm not sure why they came up with that name, but it stuck. It's not fair, Anora gets 'Ealisay' but I got stuck with bloody Pegicorn."

"How is the Dowager Queen these days?" She asks. 

Alistair shrugs. "We manage as well as we can. She is formidable, when she wants to be. Not for the first time, I wish I had a wife or partner in some capacity. A team of two would be a good answer to her strength."

Lina nodded, understanding. "The nobility in Ferelden is lacking in eligible women, that's for sure." She said. "And you've got the funny idea of marrying for love."

"Funny that, isn't it?" Alistair asked, his voice dripping sarcasm, but Lina just chuckled at him. 

"Don't take that tone with me, Alistair. I know some perfectly wonderful women, humans and elves, but every date I've set you up on has been a disaster." She says, buttering some toast.

"I could date all of Thedas and never find the one at this point. But if you've more friends, let's not stop trying." He said with a grin. There was a crumb in the corner of his mouth and Lina flicked her own mouth to show him where it was. He brushed it away like an annoyance and she felt a little proud of him. When they'd first met, he would have thought nothing of eating that crumb, and often did. Courtly life had improved his manners a great deal.

"I know an elven woman you might like, and she's from here too." She began, after some thought. An elf would be a good for Ferelden, and good for him, since their children would appear human. If it ever got that far, which she doubted it would, but she could hope.

"Go on." Alistair said cautiously.

"She's cousin to Shianni, I think you know her." He nods at her words, encouraging her to go on. "Amelia's quite nice actually. Well read, got into good schools but wanted to stay near her family. I think she's got a degree from the university here. She said that you were 'cute for a shem'."

Alistair eyed her, a little pink in his cheeks from the compliment. "Why haven't we met before?"

Catalina shrugs, trying to betray innocence with the movement. "Well there is the teeny, tiny chance that she is involved with some of the more, shall we say, incendiary members of the movement."

"Lina!"

"I know, I know, but she is a great person. Funny, smart and very pretty. Her father an elder in the alienage." Catalina went on, but Alistair stopped her.

"No."

"My king, listen." She tried, but he held up a firm hand.

"NO."

"Okay, if not a date then you could at least meet and talk with her. It would go a long way to help with the current strife." Catalina spoke of unrest in the alienage, of riots that and fighting that were surely coming. 

They both could see it looming in the future, and Alistair had recently commissioned a task force made up of elves, dwarves and humans to think of peaceful solutions to the tension in the city, but she thought he'd put the wrong people together. He'd picked from a group that he already knew, people who were already prosperous and safely embedded in their positions, not willing to risk anything that might put their comfort in jeopardy. There was no real representation for the alienage, and they fought about it regularly through their correspondence.

"There were riots in Gwaren, you know. It won't be long before the spark ignites here." He said sadly. 

"I know." Catalina answered. "All the more reason to take the chance to talk to someone like her. And it doesn't hurt that she's very smart, and good at a hand of Wicked Grace. Her name is Amelia Tabris." 

"Alright, but not a date. I just couldn't, my advisers would murder me. But she can come meet with the committee." He conceded.

"Good. So anyway, I know this other elven girl, but Dalish." She started again. 

"Another elf? A Dalish elf?" He asked, perking up.

"Yes, and she's come to the city a few times. We've had dinner. She doesn't wear shoes though. Name's Tamsin Mahariel. I think you'd like her."

"Anything else I should know?"

"Nothing I can think of, Pegicorn, but I'll get back to you."

He winced at the name but then asked, "Does she hate humans?"

"Hate is such a strong word." Catalina said, pouring herself some more tea. "It's more like she's just not used to your kind and your ways, growing up on the reservations and all."

"And you would have her date a king?"

"I would have you meet a nice person, who isn't going to sugar coat the bad news for you, and who can stand up for you when needed. If you want a strong queen consort to stand up to the Dowager, you need to pick a strong woman to begin with." She said.

He nodded at her fervently. "You're right of course. Lina, what would I do without you?"

She stuck out her tongue at him, making him laugh again. The rest of the breakfast passed quickly, and they talked of many things, Alistair asking her advice on economics and trade, but mostly more talk of the problems within their own borders. Too soon an assistant poked a head in and told them the time, and Alistair stood up to put his suit jacket back on. He had a tie in his pocket, which he let Catalina put on him. 

She wished she could see him more often, but once a month had to be enough. They hadn't grown apart as she feared they might – Alistair was one of her few true friends on the surface, though she had almost no friends left in Orzammar.

She stood over him as he sat back down in the chair, tying the knot with expert fingers. When she was done, he seized one hand and gave her a serious look.

"I hope this new mystery man appreciates you." He said softly. 

"He challenges me, excites me, and reminds me of the time before I got so...comfortable." She answered. "I think those things go a long way."

Alistair gave her a swift hug as they parted, she down one corridor and he flanked by protection guards down another.


	8. Chapter 8

Leliana has an unflattering stern expression on her face and lips pursed comes straight for him when he enters the precinct that day. "We have nothing you know. Nothing but picture after picture of you getting cozy with our only suspect."

Zevran shrugs. He's here to either recover the item or prove who did it. Plodding police work matters little to him, though he's happy to use their resources.

"Did she say anything at all?"

"Lots of things, and some would make you blush if I repeated them." His grin fell flat on Leliana, who just looked more vexed. "It's not going to be as simple as a wiretap or anything like that. She'll never admit it, but she likes that I know she's done it. One day I'll get her to talk about it and you'll be the first to know then. For now, I have to get closer to learn anything."

Her tongue clicks impatiently at him, but she says nothing further. "At least your ad got a response. There's a housewife from Amaranthine that thinks her husbands new car might be the one seen driving away from the museum." 

"Oh?" He's very interested already. Besides his talks with Taneth and her rumors that some elven scholars have seen the urn and studied its text, he's got next to no evidence.

"Indeed. She's agreed to talk to us this afternoon. Are you up for a drive?" Leliana asks. 

"Certainly." 

"It'll take about an hour and a half to get there. We'll now and get lunch there." She said. "Don't want to give her too much time to think about it, but I did think we should wait until her husband was out of the house."

"Good idea." Zevran said. "You are fantastic when you put your mind to it, my dear. You should be in my line of work."

Leliana gave a proud huff at that. "No, thank you. I serve more than just the police forces or those that want money."

He doesn't rise to the bait, but let her lead the way out of the police precinct. She led him to an undercover car instead of a cruiser, and he's glad she didn't feel the need to trumpet the police involvement. Not that a Denerim car would go down well in Amaranthine to begin with, but still. Police could be heavy handed when it came to investigating and Seekers had more flexible jurisdiction laws than others.

The drive itself passed quickly, with the two of them chatting about the case and current events. It surprised him that how much Leliana knew about the elven uprising, but he suspected she had many little birdies that found out bits of information for her. She was worried about the unrest, about the safety of all the people in Denerim, not just the nobles. It reminded Zevran how much he really did like her.

When they arrived at the house of their informant after a quick lunch, the woman hurriedly let them in. He was seated on a sagging but clean blue sofa in a modest room, decorated with wood paneling and color family portraits on the walls.

"I wasn't sure whether to contact you at all." The woman said, fretting with a dishrag in her hands. 

Both Leliana and Zevran were adept at calming people. Leliana spoke first. "We are just here as friends, nothing more. Please sit and tell us your story. My name is Leliana, and this is my friend Zevran."

He nodded at the woman, giving her a friendly smile as he did. She fluttered visibly, but not from nerves this time, from his smile. That was promising. "What is your name, my good woman?" He asked.

"Flory. Flory Wendt." She answers, sitting down in a chair not far from him. "Well, it's like I said on the phone. I saw the story in the papers like everyone else. Me husband got a new car two months ago, just like the one in the description."

"Why did he get a new car?" Zevran asks.

Flory shrugs. "Well he used to have a truck, a big one, he works down the granite quarry – he's a mason you see. But it was always breaking down, the old thing. So we saved up for a new truck, but he comes home with this car, says he got a great deal. I didn't mind so much because I like driving it now. It's nicer when I go to the store."

"Wouldn't he need a truck for his job?" Leliana asks.

Flory shook her head. "Not necessarily. He works on site and puts his tools in the trunk. He just liked that big old thing."

This wasn't promising, but he felt like they were missing something. "Madame Wendt – Flory." He began, making his voice as soothing as possible. "Why did you call us? It could have been any number of similar cars."

"Well it's the dent, isn't it? The dent gave it away. He's been as careful as you can be with that car, washing it every week, driving slow. But he shows up out of nowhere with a dent in it that he says he got on a job in Denerim. He'd have to be parked on a street for that, because he parks way in the back of any lot now. And why's he going to Denerim in our car anyway? They usually send the big trucks and the boys ride in front. So that's why I got suspicious. Your description matched it and his car gets dinged in Denerim traffic the day of the robbery? There's a lot of things I'll stand for, but not something like this." Flory crosses her arms over her chest, her back straight and proud.

"Can we see the car?" Leliana asks, already standing up.

"He's at work today, down near the Wending Wood. You'll have to go down there."

Zevran stood, reached out and took her hand. He kissed the top of it, making Flory blush. "Thank you, dear Flory. You were a great help." 

"Why – well I was just doin' what was the right thing." She replied, flustered. Leliana rolled her eyes in the background.

"Still, we thank you." Zevran said, buttoning the middle button on his suit and heading towards the door. They had a mason to find.

It didn't take any time at all to locate the mason or the vehicle. It was parked a little ways away from the others in front of the business office for the quarry. The dent was there, just as Flory said. They inspected the car and it matched the description in every way, though they'd no way to place it in Denerim except the word of an upset woman.

Their man was quarryman, and he was called from his labors in the pit to come and talk to them. His boss kept a firm eye on them as they walked outside to the car. When Zevran asked about the dent, the large man broke down in tears.

"I never thought it was a robbery, Ser." He sobbed out. "It was called a delivery when I was hired. I answered an ad and went to a hotel here in Amaranthine. I went to a room and picked up a phone. I only talked to a bloke about a pick up and delivery in Denerim. I was to wait outside the museum in an alley, and then drive away once someone loaded a box into the car."

Leliana took pity on the man, but Zevran was upset. How could he think this was legitimate business? Her cooing got him to go on, though the mason spoke more to her than him. He quailed every time he met Zevran's glance.

"Well before I hung up the phone, the man told me to take the envelope off the bed and buy a new car. It was five thousand sovereigns, ser. My wife, she's a good woman, but she can't work anymore. Used to be a waitress when we met, but her feet is bad now. So we get by, but just. I didn't want to spend all our money on a car, what if there's an emergency? What then? She's been in the hospital once already, and we've got two kids."

Zevran silently agreed with the man, though he kept his face neutral. "So I got the car with the money, paid it all off too. And I went through with the job. Seemed the least I could do since I got a new car out of it. I got another twenty-five hundred crowns afterward." He admitted.

"What did you do with the money?" He asks.

"Put it under the bed. Didn't want to spend it unless we needed it."

"Are you sure it was a man you spoke to?" He asked. The tale sounded farfetched, but he had a hunch.

"Yes, ser." The mason answered miserably.

"Come with me." Zevran said. To Leliana he said "I think we're done with our friend here. He can tell us no more. Better to get him some water and send him back to work."

"We should take the car." She said softly. The mason paled.

"No, we cannot deprive him of his transport. He's admitted his part, and the deception that brought him to it. I trust he will not go anywhere. He was just a tool, and there is no need to disturb his life further." Zevran said, mollifying her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "He's an accessory."

"Take pictures of the car if you like. Take an official statement once he is calm. But I guarantee you will find nothing more. No evidence of a resident in a hotel room, and no voice on the phone. Let him get back to his life, where you can find him if you need him."

Leliana made an impatient grunt, but nodded at him. "Tell me where you dropped off the package, and I will let you go." She demands. The man was already shaking his head, ready to acquiesce to her.

"Didn't take it far, did I? Left it at the Chantry, inside one of the vestibules." He answered.

"Thank you, ser." Zevran said to him. "Let me get you a water." He led him inside and poured the man some water in a paper cone. To the supervisor he asked "May I use your phone?"

The man nodded and pushed it towards him. He palmed the man a silver for the use of it, especially since he was calling all the way back to Denerim. He waved the mason over and lowered his voice. "I am going to place a call. Tell me if this sounds like the man you spoke to on the hotel phone." He said.

"Alright." The mason said.

Zevran placed the call. The phone picked up on the third ring, and a gravelly voice answered. "Hello." A pause. "Hello? Is anyone there?" Zevran depressed the button to end the call, and took the receiver from the mason, who was pale once again.

"Was that the voice?" Zevran asked.

"Think so, ser. A little different thought, more refined." The mason said. "I'm not sure."

"Thank you." Zevran said again and excused himself. He wished he'd been wrong, but the man had paled when he'd heard Varel's voice. He wasn't entirely sure whether he'd tell Leliana that bit of information or not. He could keep it to himself until he saw Catalina at dinner, at the very least. She would busy herself with searching the Chantry anyway, while he worked things out in his head.


	9. Chapter 9

Catalina isn't uneasy, not quite. It's more like she's getting restless with this song and dance, and were it not for Zevran she might have moved on. There's no where to go at the moment, however, but her mind isn't on Denerim anymore.

Though her eyes are only for Zevran these days, she still feels a stirring in her soul to get gone. To see something new, or at least something she hasn't seen for a long while. She wants to roam again.

For now she contents herself with letting her eyes roam over Zevran, who is resplendent in his blue suit again. He cuts a dashing figure, the slim build of him in finely tailor clothes, blond hair just catching his collar and setting off the tattoo on his face. She liked that one a great deal, because it made her feel less out of place with her brand. His wasn't the same, she knew that, but it almost like something they shared.

"If you're taking to brooding, I'll have you know that you are too beautiful for it." He says, breaking her out of her thoughts. Catalina laughs, but it isn't bright. She's still distracted.

Silence fills the space between them again until she pushes away her salad and sits forward. "I have a secret place." Catalina announces, her head close to his at dinner.

"I thought I'd discovered all of your secret places." 

"You probably have, but this is different. I want to share it with you. We're going this weekend to...what I think of as my weekend home. If you have plans, cancel them." She does this sometimes, gives orders like she is unaccustomed and unwilling to hear any argument against her wishes. Luckily, this time there are none.

"I had no plans to leave your side over the weekend anyway. Is this your cabin out in the bannorn or your boat?"

Catalina smiles at him, wide and inviting, her eyes glittering. "See, you already knew my secret. But it's not the same until you see it. It's...the boat. You'll like it. I do." She finishes softly, as if she can't find the proper word to encompass what she feels. "You'll like it." She says again, confidently.

"Oh? Are there lots of hidden things there for me to discover?" He's playing saucy, but she doesn't answer right away.

"It's just freer there." Catalina answers, looking away.

#####

She takes him sailing, of all things. He's never met a dwarf with an affinity for the water before, but she loves it. Her cruising yacht has a single mast and a sail, because it adds authenticity in her mind, though it's a small, powerful vessel without it. It's thirty-nine feet long, so it's a nice size, not too ostentatious, and in very good shape.

Zevran's not surprised that she has a boat, he read it in some file about her, but that's she's named it Rica, after her sister. She doesn't actually do much of the sailing, the boat, while lovely, was designed for humans, and things are a touch too big for her. There is a small crew in place to take over, however she does guide them out of the slip and into open water.

"I told you that I could sail." She says triumphantly, as she joins Zevran on a seat in the back of the boat. 

He's already clad in his swimwear, and went below deck to check out the space. It's a spacious set up, two beds at opposite ends of the boat, with a dining area between them. There's a small bathroom with shower down there as well, but he didn't bother much to look at the cramped space. Her people made them a lunch that was packed away in a cooler down below.

"It seems you can do anything you put your mind to, my Catalina." He says, meaning it.

"Am I yours now, or are you mine?"

"Why can't it be both?" He asks.

"Why indeed." She says, but slides into his arms. She stays there only for a few moments before she pulls away from him. "I should go change into my swimsuit, since we're to be out here all day. Must take advantage of the sun."

"Of course." He replies, letting her go.

It takes no time at all for her to slip into a pretty white two piece swimsuit that was clearly made for sunbathing over swimming. It has a halter top and bottoms like tight shorts with a belt across the waist. She's pulled her hair into a long ponytail and large, round sunglasses adorn her face, nearly covering the brand under her eye. It strikes him that she's rarely so relaxed when they venture out, but the relative privacy of the sea has made her more herself than she would have been at a restaurant. He's glad to see her this way, and know that her demeanor isn't a pretense with him. They've gone beyond that.

He isn't sure how to categorize this change, this feeling that's come up. Zevran's instincts are more than good, they're honed to a fine point. But what he feels in his chest is so strong it dims his senses. He can't name it until he sees it in her face too.

It's love. Damn all of this, damn both of them. Catalina's has morphed into more than just a playful, funny bed mate while he is out and abroad. She is more than the woman he wants to catch for his job. She's the one he wants for himself.

Her face shows it just as plainly as his must, and he can read the signs in her because he's so long been masking them in himself.

In the face of disaster, there's nothing to do but enjoy it. Love was an exultation of the Maker he never thought himself capable of, and it always caught him off guard. He was determined not to give offense, even if he was wrong-footed and unsure and desperately afraid of capsizing. So are the risks of sailing, he reminds himself. So Zevran plucks a fig from the platter that her crew has set out for them to eat, and feeds it to her, delighting as she sucks on his fingers.

Truly, it was his only defense.

#####

This time when they are together, the sea air buffets away all artifice between them, and leaves nothing but the sweetness. By now, she knows what Zevran likes. There's little she doesn't know about the lithe contours of his body, no tattoo she hasn't traced with finger or tongue. 

But it's always been about chasing pleasure before. There was much to be had, the two of them with their similar pasts and thoughts on love. Two rogue hearts that sought each other out, bonded by time. Truly, she knew this day would come, and this time she wouldn't run from it. It was a brave little act of defiance, but Catalina was full of those these days.

Zevran pulls her astride his lap once they are alone. His fingers are sure when they take off her sunglasses and put them aside. There's a breathless moment when her eyes meet his, and neither of them speak – an utterance would have been a vulgar sound that polluted the purity of their sanctuary. When she kisses him, the sun shining on his golden hair and making all the shadows between them disappear, she kisses with hope. Her lips on top of his, tongue gently teasing his as his hands snake up her back.

He buries his head in her chest as if he's taking refuge, not pleasure. It isn't truly the case, Zevran's nimble fingers push away the confines of the white bikini and he suckles her hard nipple between his lips. Catalina arches her back into him, but only with the intent to be closer to him, not in heated need.

It's almost lazy how they take pleasure of one another, but their slow speed is but a mask for caustic caution. Like embers burn so they did for each other. Every touch of the skin is loaded between them, each gaze filled with meaning. When Catalina settles herself beneath Zevran on the smooth deck of the ship, she's near breathless as a virgin. He positions himself right outside her entrance, but surprises her by taking her hand. As their fingers thread together, he slides into her and they both moan.

She lets her mind blank and just enjoys the feeling for the space of a heartbeat, the exquisite hardness of him inside of her. When she meets his eyes again, he's searching for her, and she squeeze his hand. Together, they begin to move. She wanted so much to seduce him when she saw him tailing her, at the luncheons and benefits. Here she was, pinned beneath him, the sun bronzing every inch of their intertwined bodies. 

They were making love, the wind, sun and sea all their to witness it. The realization made her breath hitch unexpectedly, and sent shivers through her. Thinking that her release was near, Zevran kept up his pace, rolling hips mimicking the waves. The intimacy of it all undid her as much as Zevran's knowing touches, and Catalina let loose a full throated cry that seemed to echo out over the water. 

Even as her climax hastens his, Zevran gives her a wry smile. She isn't normally disposed to be so 'vocal', but she didn't want to control herself this time. Beads of sweat make a dewy sheen upon his brow, and she can feel the taut snap of his hips speed up. His muscles are tense, a string waiting to snap.

Then he does, and Zevran gives a yell that doesn't match her own, but rivals it. She clenches deep inside, and feels his cock twitch. Another thrust and he descends into her, lowering his face next to hers, pouring over her body like warm olive oil.

When he's regained his breath, he rolls next to her and gives her a sheepish smile. "Neither one of us could keep quiet today, could we, mi amor?"

Mi amor. She acknowledges the new words only with an answering smile. "Why should we?" She asks, and gets laugh shaky with exhaustion in return. 

"True enough." He says.

Eventually they get to their feet and redress, and the crew dares to return. Eventually they start making their way back to Denerim, meandering slowly as Catalina and Zevran sit intertwined under a blanket. Her head lies on his chest as they both look up at the night sky.

#####

He expects the spell to be broken once they pull into the harbor in Denerim, but it isn't. It seems like the stars will play their accomplices as much as the sun and sea did earlier.

Instead of high-brow establishments, he takes her for fried fish on the docks. They walk hand in hand as if they were lovers in truth, destined for a world where obligations and time and duty had no pull on them. She laughs as he questioningly dissects part of his fish, wondering exactly what part it had once been. He tastes the fish and sweat and faint perfume on her lips when they kiss again. 

When they go to back to her house, the levity between them stays as they shower off the dust of the day. It's like storybook magic, the type that makes people fall in love with the fullness of the moon. Catalina drapes her long, wet hair over his bare chest in bed, and he retaliates with tickles. Her laughter brings about his own, an in that way they share something more intimate than coupling. 

But later they make love again. It was almost as if they were making sure that the feeling on the boat was confined to the sea. Zevran was happy to find that it wasn't. They sleep, his legs twined with hers and he knows nothing but contentment until the too soon light of dawn breaks upon them.

Of all the time he's spent with her, he knows that this will be the what he remembers the most. It was the only time when neither of them had to lie.


	10. Chapter 10

Alistair's staring out the window, waiting for her when she comes for breakfast. One arm is pressed up against the frame, stretching his suit jacket taut across his wide shoulders and back. 

"Am I late?" She asks, knowing that she isn't.

"No, not at all. I just couldn't sleep." Alistair still had his back to her, intent on the scene before him. The heat of the day was already rising, making wavy lines in the air and parching the throat with each breath. "I love her, you know." He admits in a voice much too quiet for it to be anything but confessional.

"Already?" Catalina asks before she can think. "No, I understand. I think that's the way it goes when you fall in love. It's sort of like falling on your face."

"Here's to the two of us then," He says, raising a glass, "foolish in love and everything else. Too bad it isn't with each other. That would solve a lot of problems." He downs the champagne in his glass. Catalina sips hers.

"If we were meant to be, I think it would have happened already. But alas, we always seem to fall for what we can't offer each other." She says in a sage tone. "You're no dashing rogue, and I am no long-limbed goddess." It was a joke, but Alistair looked alarmed after she said it.

"It's not that you aren't human. Not at all. I've always though you very beautiful, Lina. You know that. I would have happily gone to your side if you'd ever asked it of me." He shrugs, the movement making a soft rustle of fabric. "But it was clear you didn't see me that way. I'm pleased to have your friendship."

Catalina actually blushed at his speech. Every once in a while she'd thought about Alistair – stalwart, brave, handsome Alistair, the man who was now king but had been a bumbling unacknowledged bastard when they'd first met. It just never seemed right between them, he was made for commitment, for honesty, for laughter every night over dinner – and she needed something else. Catalina's kind of love was kisses in shadows, men who left her breathless in anticipation, who would run hand in hand with her when she left off on a new adventure. Alistair wasn't that man for her.

"Hush. We know what we are to each other. There's no sense in despairing that we fell in love with other people. It's too wasteful of the good fortune we do have." She says, reaching over to take Alistair's hand across the table. He reaches out too, his cuff brushing the top layer of jam spread over toast. He didn't notice or care, because he didn't move it, just intertwined his fingers with hers.

She smiles at him and he returns it. The warmth of his look gives her the courage to say what she really needs to tell him.

"I will be traveling again. Soon, I think." She says.

Alistair squeezes her hand and let's it go. "Is this business or personal?"

"A little of both."

"Who will I call when I need advice about women?" He asks, puffing out his lower lip dramatically.

Catalina laughs softly and picks up a scone. "About one particular woman, you mean. You'll find me if you need me, but you're already so in love you won't notice I'm gone." She leans back in her chair and smiles at him. "Tell me of her. You resisted all of my attempts to send decent elven women and the occasional pirate your way. Who is this Lady Cousland that has the nobles in such an uproar? Isn't she one of their own?"

Alistair smiles, and its as wide as his face. "She's recently divorced. That's why they are mad about us getting together. Apparently I need to only bed soft virgins who cower at the sight of a naked man."

"See this is another reason why we couldn't be together. No duster would hide from a royal cock, I'll tell you that." She says, making him blush with her bawdy talk.

"Stop trying to shock me, woman. Cordelia – her name is Cordelia, she was married to Lord Dairren, and their separation was amicable. Her brother is the current Teyrn Cousland."

"And she's perfect." Catalina cut in, just as his eyes started to get glassy.

"Not at all, but she's lovely and bested me in sparring and has a daughter named Melody." He said in one exhalation. "I met her for the first time yesterday, she's just now two and the cutest thing I've ever seen."

The softness in his voice and manner made her heart melt. Of course he'd like this spitfire of a woman who'd already borne a child to another man. He'd marry her and share father duties with the biological father and think nothing of it, scandalizing a whole nation. But she'd wanted that in her own way, Catalina had wanted him to be with an elf or a mage and let the nobles shout as change slapped them in the face from all sides. This just wasn't what she'd expected, though it was clear that Alistair was completely besotted.

"I'm happy for you." She says, breaking off his stare into the distance, where he was no doubt thinking of his new love. "I really am." 

"Thank you." Alistair beams at her and it's impossible not to smile back at him. "I do hope that I can return that joy. Does he still challenge and excite you?"

"Zevran." She says, offering his name for the first time. Telling Alistair is like letting him in on the secret of the relationship, and somehow makes it feel more legitimate than it did before.

"Does this Zevran still make you happy?"

"Yes. He is more." She pauses, thinking on what he is more than. More than she'd hoped for, certainly. More than she bargained for, undoubtedly, but mostly he's just wonderfully more like her than anyone else she's ever met. But the words escape her when she looks back at Alistair. Her friend is smiling at her as if he understands though.

"Then I am happy for you too." He says. "And our breakfast is getting cold. Shall we?" He asks, then dives in, not waiting her answer.

Catalina laughs. Alistair would always be the same – sweet and never deterred too long from food. 

 

#####

Leliana is sitting across from him, carefully pulling apart a croissant. She won't meet his eyes as she speaks.

"You are close to Ser Brosca, no?"

"Yes." He sighs with impatience. "You know this. Your eyes about town have seen how close we are."

"Would you like to know where she's gone after you've left her the past three days?" Leliana asks. She takes a careful sip of her coffee as she does.

"Oh, is it something good?" Zevran asks in return, forcing joviality into his response. He holds out his hand, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut. He knows there will be a note, because Leliana won't say the name aloud in public. He's surprised when she reaches down and hands him a manila folder instead of the paper he was expecting. So there are photos instead, indelible proof.

He takes them out, sliding them from within delicately, as if he can hurt himself more on the photos than with the contents. It is Catalina, standing close with Nathaniel Howe. It's a face and a name he knows well, though he and the man have only met in passing before. Dark hair and a well cut figure, trim and clad in a dark suit. The photos are in black and white, so Zevran can't be sure what Nathaniel Howe is wearing, but Catalina's dress he knows. He knows that it was his hand underneath the sheer lilac fabric probably not even an hour before the photo was taken. There was no slip underneath, nothing, just lingerie and skin under the chiffon whisper of a dress, like a secret for him to discover. A secret it appeared Nathaniel also discovered.

Howe's holding onto her as if he owns her, though her face is turned away. They are embracing in the next photo, the way lovers lock around each other before a kiss, and Nathaniel gets a kiss on the cheek in the next picture. It is innocuous enough, but it feels too intimate, looks too much like reconciliation. Zevran shuffles through them without seeing the rest. It's impossible for him to see anything after that, so he slides the photos back into their sheaf and picks up his own coffee. 

"He looks well in a suit, but alas, he's too tall for her." He voice is filled with forced joviality, and Leliana's blue eyes turn on him with pity. "Don't." He holds up a hand to forestall whatever she was going to say, because he knows it was be an apology of sorts, placating. He doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to spend another second thinking on what he's just seen. He picks up his fork when she closes her mouth and shoves the tines with more for than necessary into his eggs. "Things will work themselves out. They always do, one way or another."

Zevran hadn't realized how strong his feelings ran for her until he was confronted with the photographs. Perhaps that is why Leliana showed them to him, to gauge his reaction. The revelation at the hands of such methods annoyed him. Leliana must have had an inkling and decided to play her hand when she thought it would be most effective. 

He'd lost his appetite and had to tamp down the desire to flee and find Catalina. He wanted to demand an explanation, to make her see how he felt and find out if she returned those feelings. Their conversation was all circumspect dodging around each other, until it wasn't. When they were honest with each other, the rare, few times – they were bold and defiant in their vulnerability.

Two people that had lives like theirs couldn't expect to be otherwise. But right then he wants it to be the afternoon he'd already planned on spending with her. He wants to confess his feelings and question hers, to be angry about Nathaniel Howe and make demands to know things that aren't really his business. He should know better, for so many years he'd trained himself to take his pleasure where he may, but this, Catalina was different.

Zevran was too proud to let his world spin to chaos in front of Leliana. He steadied himself, took a sip off coffee and continued to eat.

"You don't have any of fetching photos of me, do you?" He asks.

"Actually, I've brought you a good one." She answers and reaches into her bag. Zevran can't help but laugh when he sees it, though his chuckles sound wan to his own ears.

She's got a picture of him dressed like a mover the day he sneaked into Catalina's house to search it.

"Jumpsuits aren't very becoming on anyone are they?" She mutters and makes him laugh again. There's still pity there, but it's less strained between them. When he leaves for the day, breaking off in the afternoon to go see Catalina, Leliana gives him a friendly squeeze on the arm, but says nothing.


	11. Chapter 11

Catalina's in her library when Zevran is shown in, his face solemn. She knew what this was about before he even came to her, but she let him do the talking. To say anything too soon would reveal her machinations.

"Catalina." He began, making her name dance lyrically on his tongue. The was he said it gave her shivers of all the right sort. But she knew this was serious, and had a good inkling of what it was about.

Since Zevran had come into her life, she'd also gained a few followers, of a sort. They were nearly always behind her now, or watching at her windows. It was easy enough to elude her police escorts, but she found it rather tedious to need to do so. It was easier to simply let them follow her around, and she may have used them in that capacity more than once.

Insecurity had driven her latest feat, and she wasn't proud of it. The watchers had served their purpose, she supposed, though she disliked seeing the pain her plan had brought Zevran. She waited expectantly for him to ask her about the photos she'd let be taken, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out.

"Are you alright?" She was forced to ask it, since his ability to speak had deserted him.

"I am...unsure." Zevran said. "I want to know what this is about." He snaps, anger coming to his aid. "Are you playing games with me? Even after the time on your boat?"

"I take it the Seeker showed you something." She ventures, and his face goes smooth and calm. This was awful. Deep within her stomach, something churns, and she closes her mouth and breathes in slowly. He really was terribly angry, and she felt bad for her manipulation. He must care for her, but she'd had to be sure.

At once, the both of them began talking. Zevran's voice was pinched but mostly controlled and hers apologetic. "I know it was a foul thing to do, but I had to be sure that you weren't just getting close to me because of the job." She explains.

"Nathaniel Howe is too tall for you, and I believe I am better suited to you in height and other ways. However, it is your choice, though I will try to sway the odds in my favor by any means."

Catalina pulls herself up from the divan, her discarded book falling from her lap. "I am sorry for the deception. I love you too, you know. There's nothing left between myself and Nathaniel. It's just you." She says, embracing him.

He is rigid in her arms, and she wonders what it will take to earn forgiveness. She must earn it from him. For a few seconds they stand together, him not returning her hug, but then it's like he's jolted into action. The fluid grace of his body returns to him and his arms encircle her. Relief makes her stand on her tiptoes and kiss his forehead, which makes him laugh.

His laugh is a balm to her troubled soul. She could listen to it forever, save when he wanted to talk in his deliciously musical voice. "That was a wicked thing to do, Catalina." Zevran whispers in her ear. "I think you must make this up to me, my dear."

She does, happily. Twice that afternoon and once that night. It doesn't smooth everything over, but she feels like they are on their way.

For a relationship that started out as an investigation, there is little that's transparent between them. They earn every bit of honesty and trust from each other, and it prickles and hurts. But once it is earned, it is there, laid between them and neither of them turn away or judge. It is more than Catalina could have hoped for in a relationship, more than she's had before.

Whatever Nathaniel Howe was to her in the past, and he was special, they never banished the shadows and mistrust between them. When they got together, Nathaniel had been angry with her. He never tried to hide it, which she liked. The two of them had been turbulent because of it. 

When the police took their photos, he'd been playing their oldest game, asking her about his father. After all this time and his many questions, Catalina still never managed to tell Nathaniel the whole truth about his father's death at her hands.

"Don't you care for me enough to tell me the truth?" Nathaniel had asked, in that gravelly voice of his.

"I care enough that I won't tell you." Catalina said, turning her head away. "Ask King Alistair."

"He won't see me."

"And I won't tell you." She answered. But after that she kissed him to soften the blow. It was short and sweet, and it served as more of a goodbye than anything she could have told him.

Some truths shouldn't see the light of day. But Nathaniel disagreed with her there, and that was how they parted.

#####

It's three days after he's seen the photos when he rolls over and casually drops a bomb on her. He's been holding it in for a while, but can't any longer, because Leliana is getting impatient, the Crows are sending him angry telegrams and he knows that she'll move the urn soon if she hasn't already. 

"I have known for some time how you did it." He confesses to her.

"Oh?" She asks, raising an eyebrow. It's all he's going to get from her as a confirmation, but he knows he's got her full attention by the way she completely stills as she waits for him to continue.

"Yes." He says. "I've met your driver, the man hired for his facelessness. There were others like him, accomplices that recognized each other, but would never know you. I know that no one saw or can connect you to this, but there is a clamor in the alienage, whispers that people there have seen the urn."

"Have they?" Catalina asks, her voice nearly bored. Her eyes betray her because they look anything but bored. They're fixed avidly upon him, waiting and calculating. This is something she wants to hear, no matter what she plays at. He's glad that he's got her attention, because he isn't sure he's gotten it all right. Zevran wants to understand her more than anything else. 

"It is a simple enough to have someone drop off the urn to a previously specified location for you to pick up after the robbery. It's a shame that your driver's wife was curious about his new car and all the money he's seem to come into." He explained his methods, watching her eyes light as he put it all together for her.

"You've been busy." She says.

"I have. I was nearly stumped on how you know the museum security so well but then I was reminded that Howe Electronics had provided them with their newest system. Then the links appeared and I knew that you easily could have found the weaknesses in it from your former paramour."

She says nothing, and he doesn't expect her to, but he reaches over and cups her face in one hand. "You are a marvel. Believe me, I'm not morally opposed to anything you may or may not have done. My employers however, would like the return of their insured item."

Her eyes close. Her face is impassive, but he knows she's considering her words before they come out. She sits back from him, and he releases her, letting her think unfettered by his touch. 

"You may find that items have a way of turning up at the museum when you least expect it." She says finally. He nods, not quite understanding the words but knowing the meaning behind them. He'd won his prize, figured it all out, and if he was lucky she wouldn't hate him for it. A faint wash of guilt flowed over him when he thought of Officer Taneth, of the protesters he'd seen in Denerim. They deserved their history, and he felt their plight. He was elven – and he did not like to be party to the crass usurping of his history. His hope was that they could support those that worked towards freedom in other ways in the future, if she would have him.

"Zevran." She says, breaking the silence that let his thoughts roam. She gulps. "Would you love a person even if you knew her reasons? That the first thoughts for this weren't because of revolution, but spite?" She twists her hands together, wringing them as the confession wends its way out of her. "I am so ineffectual, even with all this money. They tolerate me, the nobles and merchant princes. I am odd. My sister is helping the poor in Orzammar – the casteless can carry weapons because her man listens to her and sees her worth. Rica beds a prince, and won him with lute playing and elf poetry. She was never our fighter, but look at how much she's done! I am here, going to parties dressed up as benefits." Catalina breathes out in a slow, measured breath. 

"What good has it really done me, going to the surface? I could say I am more comfortable in these expensive clothes, but they itch and are ill-fitting in a different way. Nothing ever fits, because I am not supposed to be here. No dwarf should come to the surface, and no casteless should pollute the stone. Even one with as much as I have finds that some things remain true no matter what" Her mouth is pressed into a hard line, and he waits silently, hoping she will continue. Eventually she does. 

"They spit on elves in the streets. The common thought among the upper echelons is that the riots will calm down if they just ignore it. I told the King it wasn't so, and he listens, but not enough. Even with his ear, I was treading water. The museum board laughed when the alienage elders presented a petition to be able to view the vase in private. They laughed as they denied it."

"I will never say that I did anything at all illegal. Not above the surface anyway. My crimes in Orzammar are well documented." She says, eyeing him sidelong, but he shakes his head. 

"This isn't the time for that, and I am not an officer of the law or Chantry. If you misspoke, I would not remember it." He would never press her about it, not now. She wasn't going to confess, and he doubted Leliana would be lenient if she did. But he understood that knot that grew inside, the conflict that raged when circumstance granted privilege to one it had previously ignored.

"Good." She replies, but it signals an end. Contrition still mars her face, but her confession is over. They stare at each other until he looks away.

"How is this going to end, my dear?" Zevran asks the question conversationally, but that he asks at all loads it with a certain gravity they'd avoided until recently. Those photos of her with Nathaniel Howe seemed to have tipped the balance of their relationship from playful cat and mouse to something more deep yet harder to define.

"You tell me." Catalina said. "Or shall I make it a dance for you?"

"My job doesn't allow me to look the other way, unfortunately. Not unless the object I seek is returned. If that one impediment didn't stand between us, then we could be as free as we liked together."

The look she gives him nearly freezes his blood, because it is more intense and hard than anything he's ever seen cross her face before. When she doesn't stop, he realizes that this is the part, the Catalina that climbed mountains because no dwarf ever had before, that made money, that spent hours in a private lab, able to keep her own with some of the foremost scientist on her team because she's taught herself what she'd needed to know.

"You would be with me?" She asks, her voice gone soft with the seriousness of the question. Now is not the time for coy games or power plays between them.

"For as long as you might have me." He answers.

"And if that would be forever?" She says, challenging him.

"Then I would gladly be by your side."

She hugs him then, and it seals the bond between them. For all their games and guessing and innuendo, this is real, and they both know it. 

It's later when she props herself up on one elbow and looks at him. "I doubt the Crows will just let you go." She says. "I've always heard its impossible to leave them, because they give all the benefits and pay you can ask for, but no mobility."

Zevran considers her for a moment before answering. "It's true, employment with them is more like a duty or indentured servitude than a career. A gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless. But I desire to go where you go, and if that means leaving, then the Crows will have to respond to that later. Once I know how they're going to react, I can counter them." He pushed hair from his eyes. "I have a good idea how to go about it. There are ways to beat them at their own game of contracts and legal lies." He said.

Catalina nodded. "I have some contacts with Tevinter dwarves, specifically their legal services. I doubt the Crows would like to go up against them. They would be thrilled to see your contract, I assure you." She made the offer without making him feel like he had to take it, or be indebted. It was more like a suggestion to meet with her powerful friends and see how it went. Zevran reached over and pulled her back down to the bed for another kiss.

How was it that she knew just what to say and how to say it? Why is it that they had to meet like this, and not before when they were both scrappy and poor upstarts who could have taken over the world together?

His questions dissolved with the pressure of her mouth against his, and it takes all of his willpower to break apart for one moment. "Thank you." He says, and then they descend into saying nothing at all.


	12. Chapter 12

He waits at the museum, because it was time to choose and see if Catalina was telling him the truth. Did she love him? He was in love with her, and that same love made him nervous as he waited. He hid it well, but his heart pounded as they got closer and closer, minute by minute, to opening time. Zevran brushed his nails against the lapel of his grey suit, wondering where he would be that night, and more importantly, whether or not he would be alone.

The main surveillance room was full, with himself, Leliana and the director of the museum in addition to the regular monitoring staff. CCTV was their primary method of observation that morning. It didn't record, but simply monitored areas, assuming that the watcher would catch any unusual movements that the guards missed. The cameras that recorded were in high value areas only, including a pair of them trained on the empty pedestal for the vase. There were more guards than usual on site that day, at his request. He didn't want anything else to go missing today.

It was a shame, he thought to himself, not for the first time that day. Catalina – he didn't want this to end, not ever. But here they were like pawns on a chessboard that only she could see.

That night before she'd been laying in bed with him, her words as cryptic as they were sweet. She was leaving, visiting the Free Marches for a while after today, if he didn't catch her. She didn't sound like she thought he would. He hoped he wouldn't need to catch her.

They stand in the room grimly, all eyes on the monitors ahead of them. At first there are only a few people trickling into the museum. He watches a dwarven woman stride in, and he can tell by the way she walks that it's Catalina. She's wearing a hat though, so he can't certainly identify her face. A face that seems to know where all the cameras are and avoids them. Behind her more people file in, and she stops in the center of the entrance hall.

It's complete silence in the monitoring room, save for the sound of breathing. They're waiting for her to move, but she's waiting for something else. More people come into the museum. At first, Zevran wonders if it's a group visit, because the people are all dressed in similar outfits. Uniforms, maybe. But then realizes that they're all women. Women dressed like Catalina, complete with hats. He knows that style of hat, and though the monitors are in black and white, he knows that the hats will be red. Ladies in red hats. It almost makes me laugh, what she's done here. The museum fills with women in red hats with purple plumes, all around her and he loses tracks of who's who in the crush.

Leliana is barking orders now, things he can't hear, but people star scurrying around. He keeps his eyes locked to the screens, and sees the red hats infiltrating their way through the museum. There's no way on screen to discern individuals in the crush, but the women are elven, human and dwarven, all milling about, talking to one another, moving through the museum. It's hard to even see anyone that isn't wearing a red hat.

Zevran begins to laugh merrily, but Leliana fails to see the humor. It is brilliant and if he could find Catalina in the huge mass of people, he would hug her.

"Did you know about this?" Leliana asks, turning on him.

"No! But it is quite amusing, isn't it?" He asks. She grumbles in response. For more than few minutes people continue to flow in, regular visitors and this horde of red hats. Zevran marvels at the depth of her shell game, but wonders where the actual vase is at. She said she would put it back, to put it behind them. Worry creases his brow, but he says nothing to agitated Leliana.

A knock on the door is answered by someone close to it, and they shout out his name. He pushes to it, and gratefully exits the packed room. A courier escorted up by Officer Taneth summons him from the observation room. They stand outside the room with a box with his name on it. Zevran takes it, thanking the courier and letting him leave. The police would try to get him back, but they would find out nothing from the young man. Zevran lifts the lid of the white bakers box, although he already knew what he'd find inside. Nestled in white paper, like a gift from a department store is the urn, in pristine condition. With a flourish he hands it to Leliana.

"Your missing artifact." He pronounces, watching her carefully poke at the vase in the box. He's already putting his jacket on and slinging his satchel over his shoulder.

"What?" She asks, but he raises a hand to stop her.

"Later," he says urgently. "I have to go now, before it's too late."

"What's too late?" Leliana shouts behind him. She must have realized he wasn't coming back, because he hears her voice as he disappears down the hall. "We'll send your fee for recovery." Zevran smirks as he weaves through the crowds of security, police and women in red hats. He wasn't likely to see a copper of it if he didn't go back to Antiva, but that was alright with him. The Crows, he would deal with later – they didn't own him, and if anyone could help him out of his contract with them, it would be her. If he got to Catalina in time.

He couldn't think where she'd be, until he knew. The boat. She said she would go to the Free Marches, but he'd doubted her at first. This was his best chance at finding her.He just hoped he'd get there before she was done waiting for him.

The trip to the docks doesn't take long at all, but it feels like an eternity in the taxi. When he pulls up, he's expecting to see Catalina there, waiting for him on her boat, but she isn't there. In her place is a man, the one that tended to her house. Varel, he thought the name was. Zevran's walked by this man many times, but never did more than say hello and goodnight to him. Or hide from him, the time he broke into Catalina's house. They did have so many sins between the two of them, and he vowed to make a few more with her if he ever caught up to her.

Varel must have gotten some inkling of his thoughts. He is smiling at Zevran, and something in his heart lifts at the sight of it.

"Is Catalina here?" Zevran asks at the same time the butler starts speaking.

"Our lady was expecting you here, and left you this letter." Varel explains. He waits for Zevran to take in the statement with the sealed envelope proffered, and nods when he takes it.

The letter is short.

"Zevran, The boat was a little obvious, wasn't it? Take it if you want to go home to Antiva. It will wait for you to get your things, though I hope you'd already had them with you."

He smiles. Of course he has them with him, the leather bag he'd come with was already packed before he went to the museum this morning. He'd checked out of his hotel. Somehow, he'd known what was coming.

"If you aren't going home, right away, you can always go for a ride.  
All my love,  
C"

He looks up and eyes the man still standing there.

"Are you getting on the boat, Ser Arainai?" Varel asks in his gruff voice. The scowl he is giving screams disappointment, but Zevran isn't sure if it's directed at him or the situation they're both in.

"No. I think not." Zevran says. He folds up the note and puts it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

"If not, I believe there's a car near the gate entrance where you were let off earlier. You may wish to get in it soon, ser." He nods towards the front gate, back where he came. He looks less menacing as he says it, and Zevran realizes the disapproval is gone. It is replaced by something less easy to define, more like understanding.

"Of course. Thank you, my good man." Zevran answers. He slung his bag over his arm and made his way back the way he came. Trepidation fills him, not because he's turned his back on going home, but because he wonders if he'll find her or get pulled into an elaborate chase.

When he gets close enough, he can see her. She's parked in a bottle green convertible with a tan hood that's already down, though the morning is just warming up. Zevran starts to laugh and she turns to him, laughing back.

"Where are we off too, my dear?" Zevran calls to her. His strides are longer, eating up the distance between them. She laughs until he gets there, when he takes her face in both of his hands and tilts it up for a kiss.

The kiss sears. It's full of passionate relief and chances taken and risks fulfilled. It's heated and sweet at the same time, lips bruising against each other with laughter spilling over the sides.

"Get in." Catalina breathes when they pull apart, and he complies readily. Zevran jumps over the side door after putting his bag in the back – next to one of hers. A red hat is wedged in between two of her bags, and he smiles as he spies it.

"I picked up provisions." She says. "I hope you don't mind."

"Oh?"

"Just a little champagne and food for when we stop."

"And where are we going?" He asks again.

"Where do you want to go?" She counters.

"With you." Zevran says. "Always."

Catalina's smiles warms him throughout every facet of his being. "Always." She says back, and leans over to kiss him again. "But I thought we might hit Val Royeaux and see the sights. I have a small place there."

Zevran doesn't answer in words. He pulls out his sunglasses and puts them on, then twines his hand with the one she's got on the shifter. A small movement of their conjoined hands and they're both off, Denerim flying by behind them in a blur as they race forward.

**THE END**


End file.
